


It Chapter 3

by supercalifragalisticfanfiction



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-10-27 01:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercalifragalisticfanfiction/pseuds/supercalifragalisticfanfiction
Summary: After Richie saves Eddie by utilizing a vision, The Losers Club must deal with the consequences of their visit to Derry after the final showdown with It. Can the Losers handle the emotional, mental, and legal challenges presented before them? Or is life a little more complicated without a monster to hide behind?Please be aware that graphic depictions of sex , violence and rape do exist within this work. If there is such a scene I will include an author note prior to the chapter with specific trigger warnings as a courtesy. It is your responsibility afterwards to decide to continue reading or not.





	1. Chapter 1

The deadlights show a lifetime and then another and then another. Some moments are so clear cut that you’re practically there. Others are overlapped on top of each other, indiscernible and incomprehensible. Beneath it all is the feeling of wanting to die because you’re so painfully human and everything you’re seeing isn’t meant for your fragile mind.**  
**

The feeling intensifies as Richie watches a sharp claw burst out of Eddie’s chest. The blood that splatters on his chest and mouth is warm. It tastes like pennies. Richie’s voice cracks as he says Eddie’s name.

Richie doesn’t want to leave him. But It is dying. Richie wants It dead so he helps. When It dies, It crackles and floats away like paper set on fire. Maybe that’s all It ever really was; a paper clown. Richie goes to tell Eddie. But it’s too late.

Eddie’s dead.

Eddie gets left behind.

Eddie has a tomb.

With It.

Richie wants to die.

A vision surfaces out of the cacophony. It sweetly beckons Richie’s own body to climb up chair. Two bare feet planted firmly on a leather lined seat. It’s cold. The rope is scratchy around his throat. His heartbeat thuds in his ears. Now jump, the vision coaxes him in his own voice. Just jump.

Something else breaks through.

Richie feels like he’s being pulled out of heavy water face first. It hurts as much as it’s relieving. Eddie’s face is close and Richie slams back into his own body with a rough gasp.

“I did it!” Eddie shouts, “Holy shit I did it! It worked! It-“

Richie knows in his fucking bones that they need to move. Now. The knowledge doesn’t come to him as a vision nor is it spoken. It just is. Richie grabs Eddie by the shoulders and throws everything into rolling them over and away.

Before Eddie can question it he sees one of It’s spider like appendages crash into the ground. The sharp, claw like tip sparks against the stone and It shrieks at the harsh contact.

Richie’s body shields Eddie’s. Eddie starts laughing nervously as It pulls back to its main body.

“I almost fucking died,” Eddie giggles wildly.

“C’mon!” Richie helps Eddie up and waves over the others.

They manage to find a momentary place of safety. The crevice of the cave feels humid and cold. It continues to rage at them; its legs and arms wildly looking for them.

Richie is cupping Eddie’s face and looking him over. He’s still hysterical and giggling. His breathing is too heavy and at this rate he’ll pass out.

“Eds! Focus!” Richie has to hold back from pushing sense into the sides of his skull.

Instead he opts for a hard slap on Eddie’s good cheek. It stops the giggling and Eddie goes wide eyed instead.

“I almost died,” he says again.

“You think you’d be used to it,” Richie says with a smile, “didn’t you almost die this afternoon too? Or was that just a weird tooth brush accident?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie smiles back, “you okay?”

Richie nods. Meanwhile the others in the pack have been foiled in their plan to force It through the small entrance to It’s lair. Richie catches wind of a few shitty insults being slung by the Losers Club.

“That’s our cue,” Richie says quickly and again brings Eddie to his feet.

“What the fuck does that even mean!?”

Again, Richie just knows. He’s got an undoubtable knowledge of what’s happening and what’s to come. This time he’s going to take it up a notch.

It is already backed up into its original landing site. It recoils and hisses at the Losers as they call It out on everything they can.

“I know a joke when I see one,” Richie yells, “you, clown faced bitch.”

“You target kids because you can’t scare enough adults!” Eddie chimes in, “You can’t catch a real meal can you? You have to live off of- off of fucking snacks!”

“And you play with your food too!” Richie continues, “We literally teach your fucking food source better than that!”

It looks deflated coincidentally just like a balloon. It’s so small now and Richie cements It’s fear by grabbing an appendage and ripping it off. He tosses it aside unceremoniously. The Losers have taken on a mantra, calling It a clown and really what’s so scary about a clown?

Mike pulls It’s heart out as if he’s reached into a sad, skinny little Christmas tree and plucked out a hidden ornament.

Just like in Richie’s vision, Pennywise seems to flake and dissipate after the group squeezes It’s blackened heart into mush. The heart itself joins in the floating ashes. The strange and oddly secure knowledge that Richie had up until this point drifts away with it. 

The cave starts to crumble and the Losers claw their way out just in time. Richie makes sure he can see Eddie at all times. He keeps him in front and almost shepherds him to safety. He may not have that surreal psychic link anymore but he has that memory. He’ll be damned if Eddie gets buried here.

Richie can feel the debris of the house on Neibolt street brush against his back. The force from the collapse sends him forward. This time Eddie helps Richie to his feet.

“I almost fucking died,” Richie mimics Eddie’s wide eye expression from before.

“Asshole,” Eddie comments.

Richie pulls him into hug. It doesn’t matter that he smells like sewer and sweat. He buries his face into Eddie’s neck.

“You smell like shit,” Richie laughs.

“Well you tasted like puke so-“

Richie lets go of the hug and his brow knits.

“Tasted?” Richie asks, “When did you taste me?”

Eddie’s face goes red. He puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs.

“You looked at the dead lights and I speared the fucker but you weren’t back. Your eyes were still doing that thing, that weird glowing thing. And everyone was busy and I remember how Ben fixed Bev so I figured- I don’t know.”

Eddie had kissed Richie.

Richie nods but avoids eye contact. The natural banter between them grinds to a very sudden and awkward halt. Richie takes stock of the others and notices Bill and Mike wordlessly walking down the street. Bev quietly takes Ben by the hand and follows. Richie curtly follows suit and Eddie trails after him. No one speaks until they’ve reached their destination.

—

“This is asking for streptococcus!”

Eddie’s cry deters no one. Bev gets a running start and once she surfaces, the others follow. The water isn’t as deep as they remember and it’s less clear. It’s aged in its own way.

When Eddie surfaces he carefully brings his hand off his wound. Covering it hadn’t done much good though as it’s soaking wet. Again.

In all reality, if he got streptococcus it was definitely because of sewer water. Let alone whatever else was floating around in that literal shit.

Bev playfully dunks Ben. Bill laughs and Mike seems to be entirely at peace as he floats on his back. Eddie searches for Richie with his ears, banking on some kind of joke or comment to be heard. There’s nothing though and that makes Eddie whip his head around.

Richie is sitting on a rock. Alone. Eddie doesn’t blame him; being kissed by an old friend and coming back from the- well not the dead but not quite the opposite- is a little weird. Truthfully, Eddie doubts that his kiss made any impact. He’s pretty sure Ben’s kiss didn’t do anything either. Coming off the deadlights is a delayed thing. Probably.

Eddie cautiously swims up to Richie. Richie is taken by surprise but doesn’t move his body at all. He stays hunched over, face half buried in his forearms.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Eddie comments, “and you’re never quiet. Just saying.”

“I -uh, I saw some shit,” Richie responds.

Eddie rolls his eyes and pulls himself up on the rock, forcing Richie into a tight shared space.

“We all saw shit.”

Richie goes stiff as their shoulders and knees make contact. Eddie feels an electricity as they touch. He feels it spread all the way to his toes and fingers.

_Just static_ he tells himself.

“It’s weird now, right?” Eddie says in spite of himself.

Without missing a beat, almost as if he hadn’t heard Eddie say anything, Richie rolls right into his own train of thought.

“Do you think true love exists?”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond. He thinks maybe he ought to pull away. Maybe this conversation shouldn’t play out on a rock in a quarry with no distance. Maybe they shouldn’t be touching.

“Like is Myra your one true love?” Richie asks a bit sardonically, “Because that would be kind of gross.”

“She’s nice, okay?” Eddie glares into the water, “I mean, yes, she can be overbearing but-“

“But what?” Richie relaxes one leg to let his foot dangle into the lake, “Do you love her or not? No judgement this time. Really.”

Eddie thinks about this. He met Myra around the time his mother died. His mother was, in many ways, a massive presence. She left a hole behind when she passed and the idea of losing her scared him. Myra was familiar, yes. She wanted badly to be loved but only knew how to instruct love not ask for it. Eddie needed that structure. It was the only thing he ever knew.

He recoils at himself as he puts into full thought that he absolutely married a copy of his own mother. It’s short lived though. Of course he did that. What other types of women did he know? None. His mother had made sure of it.

“No,” Eddie sighs, “I married her after my mom died. I needed… something. And please spare me the Oedipal jokes. I didn’t realize what I was doing and grief is complicated okay?”

“You going home to her?”

“Fuck no.”

This shocks even Eddie. But it’s true. He’s faced death head on twice now. He has a sinking suspicion that if he’d remembered the first time life would have gone differently. What would that Eddie even be like? His mother was like a sickness he carried around and for the first time he felt free of it. Imagine what all he could have done had he saved himself as a child?

There definitely wouldn’t be a marriage to Myra. Eddie can’t go back and change his past but he can free himself in the present. A divorce would be a good start.

Poor Myra.

“Are you still headed to Reno?” Eddie asks.

“That’s where the dream is taking me.”

“Your dream their nightmare.”

This gets no response. Not even a chuckle or a playful shove. It’s not Eddie’s A game but it at least warranted some kind of reaction.

“Nothing? Rich, talk to me. Insult me. Something. You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m freaking me out.”

The others are just far enough away to not hear but they’re noticing the lack of witty banter to the scene. Bev cocks her head to the side and says something to Ben.

“Why’d you kiss me?” Richie asks.

“I don’t know!” Eddie then hushes as it looks like the others are gathering, “I panicked. I thought maybe you’d be stuck like that forever and you’d never make another shitty joke or say you fucked someone’s mom or-“

Eddie takes a deep breath. If Richie never snapped out of it then he might as well be a floating corpse. Eddie thought that never hearing Richie give him shit ever again would be a blessing but that would be wrong. Even now, as Richie sits there in silence Eddie almost feels like his heart is breaking. He wants desperately for him to say something. Anything.

_I missed you, asshole._ Eddie realizes it quietly and only to himself.

Eddie puts his hand in Richie’s knee.

“I would have done anything to wake you up,” he admits, “You had puked earlier and I kissed you. That is literally the nastiest thing but I still-“

“I watched you die!” Richie starts off as a scream but it cracks at the end into a whimper.

The others swim over as quickly as possible. Bev gets there first. She places a hand on Richie’s.

“You saw it too,” she confirms without question.

Richie starts crying and Eddie cautiously puts an arm around him. Eddie is surprised by how openly Richie leans into it. He’s fucking sobbing into Eddie’s shirt like a kid. Eddie holds him tighter.

Of course Richie saw things. Why hadn’t Eddie considered that? It was clear that Bev had been affected deeply from the dead lights. Why would Richie be any different?

“It’s okay,” Bev continues, “it didn’t happen. It can’t happen now..”

“Yeah, Rich,” Bill is set right in front of him, “It’s over.”

“We won,” Mike adds.

“I can’t unsee it!” Richie muffles his cries in Eddie’s shirt, “I can’t!”

“Hey,” Eddie says gently, “Rich, I’m here.”

Rich looks up. He feels so massive huddled against Eddie like this. Their height difference becomes palpable. He takes Richie in, eyes red and wide. Eddie brushes the tear streaks on Richie’s cheeks.

“I’m right here,” Eddie says again before smiling, “you see me right? Or do you need your old Coke bottle glasses back?”

Richie laughs.

“Nah, life’s better without them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that way when I’m at home, your mom is out of focus. Ugly is better blurry.”

Eddie shoves Richie off the rock and he splashes into the water. Despite the joke at his dead mother’s expense, Eddie smiles a bit.

—-

Bev knocks on Richie’s door quietly. Her hair is still wet, at least this time it’s from a proper shower. She’s walking around barefoot. She only had the one pair of shoes for this trip and she promptly tossed them into the garbage when they all returned to the bed and breakfast. She had thrown away every article of clothing she’d worn during the final confrontation. It felt refreshing, like losing an old skin.

It takes Richie a minute to respond. He answers shirtless and his hair tousled. Bev realizes that Richie does have a certain attractiveness about him. It was something that she hadn’t understood as a child looking into the future but she does now. Laughter had aged him well and his height gave him presence. His smile had grown to be his best feature. It’s a shame the smile Bev sees now isn’t genuine.

“Hey, Beverly,” Richie says, “I got to admit; this is a very poorly timed pre dinner booty call.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” she responds with a sense of endearment, “Or don’t. I actually want to talk if you can stomach the maturity.”

Richie sighs, half jokingly and the other half legitimately. Still he opens the door and Bev walks in. She takes a seat on the bed cross legged.

“Bev,” Richie smirks “I thought you were a married woman.”

“Not for long,” she states plainly, “I think divorce will suit me better.”

“Wow. Really? Shit, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner. Or that I married that asshole at all really.”

She pats the spot next to her. Richiel acts accordingly but when he sits down he’s so stiff and awkward. Bev reaches for his hand again like she did at the quarry and he tenses.

“I don’t know if this will help but just listen,” Bev starts slowly, “The vision that hit me the hardest was watching Bill’s death.”

“Bev, I don’t know if-“

She tightens the grip on his hand. She can feel his pulse in her fingers. She already knows how fruitless it is to avoid the fear. The more you try not to think about it the more you think about it. For years she had to satiate the fear by talking to her therapist but back then she had no context. She could never fully process it all.

“Bill is drinking. A lot. He’s alone. He throws a laptop out of the window and screams. He drinks more. He looks at a bookshelf lined with his own work. He lights it on fire and then he… he passes out before he can douse the fire.”

Her hand has created a death grip on Richie’s. She knows her eyes have glassed over and even now she’s sweating. It’s a secondhand memory but it behaves like it’s her own. It’s too hot now and her chest feels tight. She swears she can smell burning paper and whiskey.

“Bill burned.”

“Bev, stop,” Richie says alarmed.

Bev takes a deep breath and plants herself back into her body. She relaxes her grip and apologetically cradles Richie’s bright red hand.

“I never understood it,” she swallows back the anxiety, “and I can’t even remember how the others went now except Stanley of course. God, poor Stanley.. and his wife.”

She doesn’t cry. Not because she can’t but because it doesn’t come naturally to her. Tears were a thing of rage. Here in this moment she is as composed as ever. Wherever Stanley’s wife may be, Bev sends out a momentary wish of peace to her.

“I saw It kill Eddie,” Richie begins, “it was right before I woke up from the lights. Fucker stabbed Eds right at his moment, yknow? He was so proud of himself. He thought he killed It.”

Bev watches him closely and stays still. If he needs to he can bruise her fingers. It’s the only time Bev will let another man bruise her ever again.

“We won in that scenario too,” Richie’s eyes go glassy too, “but Eddie didn’t make it. And you guys made me leave him there. You made me.”

Bev says nothing. Hearing and seeing someone else go through what she did doesn’t feel good but it does create a certain solidarity. She was always willing to die for her friends but as tear drops from Richie’s far away gaze an even softer spot is carved out for him in her heart.

“I can’t handle it. I think about him all the time. I keep seeing him everywhere. I go over our initials at the kissing bridge. He’ll never know about that. All this time I thought I didn’t want him to. I was wrong.”

_Oh, Richie_ her heart breaks.

“I drink. Bourbon. I need it for courage. I never had enough courage. I throw rope over a support beam and and line up a chair. I keep drinking. I cry. I throw up. I drink more. I step onto the chair.”

“Richie,” Bev tries to pull him back.

“He’s dead,” Richie’s voice is so small.

“No. No, honey, he’s alive.”

Richie blinks a few times and seems to come back. He wipes his eyes with his wrist.

“You never said anything,” Bev isn’t accusing only bewildered.

“To be fair,” Richie half laughs, “I just saw it today. A few hours of silence seems pretty normal.”

Bev bites her lip.

“No, sweetie,” she tries to be tactful, “I meant- the kissing bridge?”

Richie goes completely pale and then laughs nervously. Bev knows what it’s like to keep secrets. God knows Tom kept her in the business of secrets long enough. Of course coming out as a victim of abuse and coming out aren’t really the same thing. Still that expression is familiar. It’s not like she hasn’t had a friend or two figure out the indoor sunglasses and out of season long sleeves.

“It’s okay,” Bev assures him.

“It’s- it’s not, I didn’t mean-“

Bev remembers her friends insisting that she leave. She remembers the legal information, the list of domestic abuse hotlines . She remembers the offers for doctor visits and a guest bed. She remembers with a heavy heart how she pushed all that a way and lost those friends.

You can’t make someone process something if they’re not ready. You’ll just drive them away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she continues, “Just know that I love you and I’m here, all right?”

Richie hugs her so tight and so suddenly that she almost falls back. She hugs him back with equal force. It feels so nice to be held like this and not be afraid of the next moment.

Before Richie pulls away entirely he plants a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Thanks, Bev.”


	2. Chapter 2

“This is ridiculous,” Mike sighs in exasperation, “my friends and I had nothing to do with any of this.”**  
**

The detective at the other end of the table doesn’t seem to accept Mike's defense. She’s a recent transplant from another state so her suspicion is somewhat warranted. Most of the Derry police department leaves Mike be, summing up his interest in police matters as a side effect of his fascination with Derry history. She doesn’t seem to be interested in giving that same assumption.

“You keep saying that,” she pushes, “but I think it’s strange that you show up to all the crime scenes and that two of your friends harassed one of the victims. Not to mention that Henry Bowers was found dead under your place of residency.”

Mike is growing more and more frustrated. It was surreal when the police showed up at dinner last night. The Losers Club plus the small group of cops nearly overwhelmed the small Italian place they’d been enjoying. They police had enough sense not to make a big deal out of it but not all of the Losers shared that sense. Namely a certain smart mouthed comedian.

Bev, Ben, and Eddie are sitting in the lobby while Richie and Bill are in cuffs. Mike is somewhere between the two options or so he figures. He’s not sure he likes those odds.

Detective Lopez fixes him with a look that lacks any hint of retreat or gentility. She’s a no nonsense kind of woman. Her curly, dark hair is cropped in a pixie cut and her face is bare and set in a deadpan expression. Her blouse is a gray button up and the lanyard of her badge is tucked under her collar.

“It’s a small town,” Mike responds, “coincidences are everywhere.”

“Nothing is ever just a coincidence. Did you know Mr. Bowers?”

Mike calmly explains how Henry Bowers was the resident bully when they were children. How often that bullying went past simple pranks and low grade violence. To stop at calling Henry a bully was like trying to call Jeffrey Dahmer a lonely guy with an appetite.

“You can ask Ben about his scar, that should give you a clue.”

“I understand that Mr. Bowers had a history of violence and mental illness-“

“Being an angry white boy is not a mental illness,” Mike points out.

“Agreed,” Detective Lopez says flatly, “but that isn’t my point. My point is that several children and a man named Adrian Melon are dead and the escape of Mr. Bowers does not correlate with those deaths.”

“It doesn’t correlate with the arrival of my friends either. They weren’t here.”

“But you were.”

Mike is taken aback by the remark. All this time he’s been keeping watch, dreading the day that Derry needed saving but looking to save it nonetheless. Not that this town ever gifted him much beyond tolerance. He has no adult friends here, no significant others, only a series of routine faces that note his presence. Derry, Maine isn’t friendly or good. It’s not even scenic but he wanted to save it anyway. His jaw tightens.

“Of course I was here. I live in Derry. I’ve lived here most of my life, where else would I be?”

“You didn’t know these kids. You didn’t know Adrian Melon. Why did you visit the crime scenes? What business did you have being there?”

Detective Lopez is standing over him now with her hands planted on the table. She does this all calmly with very direct body movements. She never lets her frustration get to her. She harnesses it into orderly conduct and in a way it’s terrifying.

But she’s an outsider without all the facts. You can tell she comes from a big city by her demeanor and her thought process. Often a crime is committed by someone close to the victim or someone that makes themselves close. Contrary to the movies, the person most likely to kill you is the one in plain sight and right next to you. Monsters that hide in the dark and stalk you like prey aren’t the norm.

Mike is glad that he and his friends got rid of that norm for Derry.

“Detective Lopez? Have you ever seen someone die-“

“Of course I have. I’m a homicide detective.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Mike insists, “I was asking if you’ve ever seen someone die when you were a child?”

This gives her pause. Her elbows soften the smallest amount and her hesitancy is plain to Mike. She doesn’t sit. There’s no way she’s backing down that quickly but it’s clear she’s listening.

“I can’t say I have, why?”

“If you take the time to look into me a bit more you’ll know that my parents died in a fire and I was in the other room. I was too little to help them. I couldn’t save them.”

Now Detective Lopez sits down. Her posture is unnaturally straight and her gaze is still unwavering. This is either the best she can do to convey being receptive or it’s the most she’s willing to give.

“Can you imagine the sort of impact that has? I couldn’t even put down a sheep on the farm I grew up on. The idea of causing harm to anyone or anything, indirect or necessary or otherwise, still makes me sick. So please, Detective Lopez, don’t insult me with what you’re trying to infer.”

“Be blunt then. What were you doing?”

“Trying to see if there was a way to stop it. If you look at our history, you’ll see there’s a pattern. Every 27 years since the town was formed, a stretch of terrible things happen. That’s longer than I’ve been alive. Longer than my family’s been in Derry.

I thought maybe if I could pay attention for the next phase I could find the connection. I could save them.”

Mike can see that she’s regarding him as an absolute looney but Mike hopes it’s the harmless kind. She can picture him tinfoil hat and all if it means she doesn’t see him as a murderer.

“And what did you find?”

Mike decides that this is as good a time as any to tell one last lie. It’s not like she’d understand the truth of the matter. She’s the type to only accept hard facts and indisputable evidence. There isn’t anything he can show her to back the truth. Nothing but a lot of rubble on Neibolt street.

“I found nothing. Whatever makes this town the way it is, it’s not for me to understand.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Pennywise was just a part of what made Derry the way it is. Its death isn’t going to cure Derry of its bigotry overnight. There will still be small minded people, violent people. Mike will never understand that.

“So you’re giving up? Just like that?”

“I almost died because a literal living relic of my past broke out of an insane asylum and tried to kill me. I think that’s a sufficient wake up call that I’ve wasted too much time on this town and my own baggage.”

Mike can’t tell if she’s buying it or not. Detective Lopez gives away nothing. She’s an absolute professional to the core. Mike respects that despite being on the other end of it. Derry could use someone on the force who can’t be swayed.

“I may need you to call you back in to corroborate a few stories so don’t skip town,” she gives him a curt nod, “You’re free to go.”

Detective Lopez opens the door to Mike’s freedom. Mike has a feeling that the others have been given similar instructions or that they will be given them. He wonders briefly if they should have thought ahead to confirm a set story with each other but he thinks better of it. None of the Losers are crazy enough to tell the truth.

“Hanlon, wait,” the detective stops him as soon as he’s out of the door frame, “tell your comedian friend that making jokes isn’t going to work with me. It’s not endearing and he’s digging a much bigger hole for himself.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, trying to get him to stop is a joke in and of itself.”

—-

“Her first name is Jennifer!” Richie shouts as if wounded, “Last name Lopez! What did you want me to do?”

Richie can tell that his lawyer is not amused. His voice sounds really far away and it is. He’s driving to Derry as fast as he can.

“Richie, this isn’t your usual legal trouble. This isn’t stolen material or a damaged room-“

“That was one time and I was still a baby! How was I supposed to know what ecstasy looks like? You’re about to see the podunk town I grew up in, man.”

“They’re talking homicide!”

“I still cry over Bambi, for fuck’s sake. Do you seriously think I’d kill anyone for fun?”

“Of course not.”

Roger Clemming has been Richie’s lawyer since the start of his career. He’s a cousin of his manager and normally Roger has no qualms about representing Richie. Most of his legal cases aren’t even his; the man doesn’t write his own stand up so he can’t exactly be held responsible if it’s stolen. Richie Tozier is an easy client.

“I didn’t even mean to kill him. He had Mike and it was clear that old Bowers was totally batshit. I reacted. I don’t know.”

“So we have a witness. That’s good. The more witnesses the better. I just wish you hadn’t pissed off the Detective.”

“Yeah yeah I’m an asshole but I didn’t say anything about the case. And I stayed away from ass jokes!”

“I’m sure that’s what will save you.”

The Derry police station is not a big place. The holding cell is visible to the front lobby and there’s only two private rooms; the sheriff’s office and an interrogation room. Richie can see Eddie, his arms crossed and his face looking like he bit into a lemon.

_Stressed out, Eddie spaghetti? You’re not on this end of the station._

“Be honest with me, Roger, am I going to jail or not?” Richie clings to a rare moment of seriousness.

“You defended someone from an escaped convict. If you sit back and don’t make an ass out of yourself we may not even go to court.”

Richie sighs and he wishes he could telepathically share this news with Eddie. He stares down Eddie in the hopes that somehow they do share a psychic link. Eddie remains pissed at some very specific wall instead.

“And, uh, my friend? Bill?”

“I’m not sure a trial can be avoided on that, but as long as there’s no physical evidence then the best they’ve got is circumstantial with no real motive. They’ll be grasping at straws if they charge him. Dead kids do make for angry parents though and sometimes they’ll pull a guy to trial because they’ve got no one else to blame.”

“So 50/50 chance?”

“40/60 of an arrest being made and I can’t begin to estimate the odds on him being found guilty. That all comes down to the kind of town your Derry, Maine.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” Richie groans and buries his face into his free hand.

“Watch it, Tozier,” the nearby cop warns him.

Richie apologizes and feigns composure.

“Sorry kid,” Roger’s using his turn signal given the soft ticking in the background, “I’ll do my best but I make no promises.”

Richie mutters a sentiment of gratitude before hanging up. It would still be the better part of a day and a half before his representation gets here. Technically he’s not even sure if Bill wants Roger to represent him but Richie figures it couldn’t hurt to arrange it. After all, do either of them really want to trust whatever a Derry lawyer looks like?

—

Bill settles in for the night. To be honest, he’s slept in far more uncomfortable places than a holding cell. He wasn’t always a big famous writer. He remembers when he had to sleep in his shitty, used Toyota back in the early days. Now he’s got two houses, a celebrity wife, and a second movie deal. None of which he’s particularly sure he wants anymore.

It’s startling how unconcerned Bill is about the charge against him. He’s been taken in on suspicion of murder but Bill knows damn well he didn’t kill that kid and Detective Lopez doesn’t have much of anything on him except that he was seen yelling at the child earlier at the day and had been spotted at the carnival. 

Bill didn’t want to seem entirely unhelpful though despite knowing they were never going to catch what killed that boy. He offered an account of what he thought was an animal attack but it was difficult to make out. Richie’s lawyer probably won’t like that he talked without him present but Bill doesn’t really care.

Bill blamed the yelling on a mental breakdown. His hometown memories were complicated and a failing marriage and work pressure wasn’t helping. When he saw a kid about Georgie’s age living in his old house, he lost it. It was easy to sell this because it wasn’t really a lie. Detective Lopez did make a comment to Bill about how childhood trauma seems very convenient in this town but Bill didn’t know how to respond outside of confusion.

“All right, everyone,” a tired cop announces into the lobby, “Y’all should get yourselves to bed. Visiting hours are over.”

The other members of the Loser’s Club are essentially draped across each other in the lobby and half asleep already. Ben is in the middle like some sort of handsome centerpiece. He has an arm over Beverly and Mike is leaning on his free shoulder. Meanwhile, Eddie is sitting on the floor at Ben’s feet looking tense and irritated.

They gather themselves up except for Eddie who continues to sit on the floor.

“Eddie, honey,” Beverly says softy, “it’s time to go.”

“Richie and Bill didn’t do anything wrong. I will leave when they do.”

Bill chuckles a bit at this and looks over to Richie on the other side of the holding cell. The look on his face gives him pause because it’s not what he was expecting. Eddie looks genuinely frightened in here. He’s also watching Eddie as if looking at the last boat on a sinking ship; one that’s just too far out of reach. Bill isn’t sure what to make of that.

“They’ll be okay,” Mike assures the sulking man on the floor, “I know these cops. They’re decent.”

Eddie doesn’t respond.

“Sweetie,” Bev is getting a hint of irritation to her voice, “we can come back in the morning.”

“I refuse to get up. This is a protest.”

Bev sighs and looks to Ben.

“We’re going to have to force him.”

“Force him?” Ben asks back incredulously, “Force him how?”

“Ben, he weighs 90 pounds soaking wet, what do you think?”

“Oh Lord,” Mike immediately understands the implication.

Ben thinks about it for a second and it dawns on him the same exact time it dawns on Eddie. Ben is briefly horrified by the idea.

“You wouldn’t,” Eddie challenges him.

Ben looks helplessly at Bev who shrugs as if to say that there’s no other way. Eddie recoils as Ben clearly accepts his orders and approaches Eddie with strong arms ready to lift him. His stance is that of someone attempting to capture a wild animal.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you fucking touch me!” Eddie screams while rapidly kicking his legs to slide away.

Bill again turns to get Richie’s reaction to all this. He’s pleased to see Richie desperately stifling a chuckle. The cop stationed here for the evening seems to be frozen in disbelief as one grown man is trying to catch another and that other fully grown adult man is essentially crab scuttling his way to safety.

On reflex, Eddie sends a hard kick and gets Ben right in the shin. Ben stops his pursuit to cradle it.

“Eddie! What the hell!?” Bev scolds him.

“Now that’s enough!” the cop finally sees fit to reanimate, “I’ve seen some bull shit in my day but I won’t have a brawl in the station! Sort yourself out or I’ll put you in holding! Got it?”

Eddie gets up from the floor.

“Oh no,” Richie says quietly.

Bill’s confused but looks back to the scene playing out before him. Eddie looks apologetic and humbly confronts Ben.

“Sorry, Ben” he says meekly.

“It’s just my shin,” Ben responds, “It’ll bruise but it’s fine.”

“No, I’m sorry about this.”

Eddie uses his whole body to send a punch right into the side of Ben’s scruffy and very shocked face. Eddie’s fist retreats just as quickly as it had departed and he’s shaking out the pain of contact. Ben cups his cheek, obviously not very wounded. The man’s essentially built like a brick house for fuck’s sake. This does get the cop moving though.

Eddie is escorted into the holding cell with Bill and Richie. Richie looks in awe of Eddie either because he was so reckless or stupid Bill can’t figure which. He does have sneaking suspicion however that Eddie’s little stunt has more to do with Richie than with Bill himself.

Eddie is still pouting and sits square on the floor all over again.

“The little guy will be free to go after he cools down, unless you want to press charges,” the cop asks Ben.

“What? No. No… it’s fine.”

Mike quietly exits as quickly as possible. He’s clearly done with the nonsense that just played out. Bev and Ben stay behind a minute as Bev checks his cheek over again. Bill can make out the soft conversation they’re having but just barely. She’s apologizing for her plan, saying she didn’t think Eddie would fight that much.

“No no, it was a good idea,” Ben assures her.

Bill can see the way that comment washes over her. Ben was always full of a certain sincerity and purity that none of the other Losers ever really had. He’s soft and probably the only one of them that didn’t end up with a ridiculous amount of paranoia or cynicism. Bill doubts that Ben is unscathed but it looks like he at least had the good sense not to unleash his unknown trauma on anyone else.

Unlike Bill and his marriage to Audra.

It’s painfully clear to Bill right now just how much Audra looks like Beverly. They’ve got similar frames, similar facial structures and they’re both redheads. Granted, Audra’s red comes from a salon but it suits her as naturally as it does Bev. They could be sister’s.

‘Why can’t you be how I want you to be?’ Bill remembers saying to Audra not long before he took off to Derry. He’s disgusted with the comment now. He’s disgusted with the fact that he kissed Beverly and it meant more to him than his entire marriage. He’s disgusted with himself.

“See you in the morning, boys,” Bev waves to everyone in holding.

She doesn’t give Bill any special treatment. No lingering eye contact or wistful gaze. It’s as if she never had a crush on him at all, as if they’ve never shared anything. Before it always felt as if she was looking _to_ Bill and now she’s looking _at_ Ben.

Despite a sense of heartbreak, Bill takes comfort in that difference.

—

There’s only two beds in the holding cell. One of which is already taken up by Bill who is sound asleep. Eddie is still sitting on the floor and up against the wall. He watches for the cop to doze off. Sure enough, he’s starting to snore in his chair.

Eddie quietly and carefully scootches over to Richie. Richie’s been lying on other cot, entertaining himself with some sort of impromptu, silent puppet show. He breaks from it as he notices Eddie encroaching on his personal bubble.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers.

“Hi…” Richie answers.

Eddie isn’t sure of how to move forward. Originally he had mapped out exactly what to say after the gang’s celebratory dinner. He was going to apologize for kissing Richie, explain again that he had panicked. He would ask that they move forward from this and go back to normal. He wanted to reassure him that he is very alive and not going to die anytime soon too. He wanted to know how much it meant to him that Richie cared so much. He never knew he was that important to anyone.

Eddie did not plan on embracing his inner chaos and landing himself in a cell for the night. He still isn’t entirely sure what came over him in that moment. The idea of leaving just hit so hard and quickly that he couldn’t do it.

“I went to jail for you,” he glares at Richie.

_Well that’s not a good start_, Eddie mentally notes.

“I see this. I’ll file it under your list of uncharacteristically brave fuckery.”

“I mean that I want to talk. We need to talk. About me trying to wake you up. From the deadlights.”

“Oh.”

There’s a pause between them. That pause grows into a prolonged period. That period slinks into awkward silence. Eddie is aware since he brought up the conversation that he should actually start it but his head is empty. All he can think about is how the stab wound in his cheek hurts and how flustered Richie looks.

“Look, man,” Richie gives in, “We don’t have to talk. I get it. You panicked. Case closed. Mystery solved. We both deserve a Scooby snack for that epic conclusion.”

Eddie realizes for the first time that Richie is hiding behind his humor. He feels like an idiot for not noticing sooner but his eyes are a dead give away. Richie is making more eye contact now than usual. It’s like he’s forcing himself to present a put together facade. He’s watching Eddie to make sure he believes it. This new information makes Eddie wonder if it might be prudent to look at Richie in a different light. In childhood, he was always just that asshole friend. He liked to pick on him but never past annoyance. You’d think trying to steer clear of Henry Bowers would have made Eddie resistant to a friendship built on teasing. In retrospect, Eddie’s not sure what did open him up to it. By all logical accounts, Richie shouldn’t mean much of anything to Eddie and vice versa.

“Why do you do that?” he decides to approach it directly.

“I’m a comedian, Eds. Cracking a bad joke is as natural to me as breaking wind.”

Eddie could easily feed into this but he doesn’t want to. He physically sits up straighter and takes a calm breath in. It’s tempting to write Richie off as immature and continue down the rabbit hole of humor at Eddie’s expense but he refuses. Richie is keeping a secret of some kind which seems painfully obvious to Eddie now. If he’s ever going to move forward from recent events he’ll need to know what it is.

“What are hiding?” he leans in close.

Richie’s face loses all color. He stammers for a moment and Eddie is secretly pleased with himself. He’s so used to Richie getting at him that it is deeply satisfying for the tables to turn. Eddie tries not to stay in that mentality though. He wants answers not revenge.

“Bill’s the one with the stutter,” Eddie points out, “fess up. You’re hiding something from me and you’re using your crap jokes to do it. I won’t go to sleep until you tell me what’s going on.”

It seems a little overkill but Eddie is feeling the dramatics today. They saved each other’s lives earlier. They should be able to talk. Eddie debates their closeness as he waits for an answer. Sometimes it felt like they were the closest two people in the room and other times they were the furthest. Eddie wants to know why.

“I- uh,” Richie is sweating at the forehead, “I want to say first that- shit no. Okay, growing up I- fuck no that’s going to take forever.”

Eddie continues to glare down his friend. It’s not that he wants to force the truth out of him but rather his concern is growing. Showing Richie his soft side doesn’t come naturally though. So here he is trying to be a good friend but acting like a displeased asshole.

“Okay, here goes,” Richie takes in a breath of confidence, “Dinner.”

“…dinner?”

“Yes.”

“What about… dinner?” Eddie says bewildered before getting accusatory, “I swear to God, Rich, if this is a set up to a mom joke I’ll-“

“Dinner!” Richie says again a bit too loud.

The guard stirs. The two men freeze. A few seconds later a loud snore emerges. Eddie sighs in relief. He’s done just enough to end up in here. He doesn’t want to get in enough trouble to stay.

“You and me. Dinner. Us. Dinner. Together. Y’know, dinner?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and relaxes his shoulders. So it’s not a joke about his mom but a joke nonetheless.

“Oh. I get it. Ha ha, very funny. Like a date,” Eddie comments sarcastically.

“Yes.”

Richie isn’t grinning. He not casually avoiding eye contact either as he does with a usual set up. Instead he’s looking directly at Eddie with everything he’s got. It’s the ‘please believe me’ look from before but in an entirely different context. It’s sincere.

_Jesus Christ, I think he fucking means it_, Eddie panics.

“Okay,” he finds himself saying even as confused internal screaming fills his insides.

“Shit. Really?” Richie is as shocked as Eddie is.

“Yeah.”

“You’re going on a date.”

“Yes.”

“With me.”

“I guess.”

This is all on the premise that Richie is released in time for a date. He may end up in real jail. Then what would they do? A prison dinner date doesn’t have the most enticing ring to it.

Eddie feels like a part of him has detached from his own brain. Whatever his body is doing is past his control now. The surrealism of this unexpected direction broke him.

“Move over,” Eddie demands quietly.

Richie backs up as far as can, looking absolutely befuddled. Eddie climbs into the small space left on the cot. He’s tired. There’s only two cots and one is taken. It makes direct sense to share at least when you’re not entirely in your own body anyway.

Eddie remembers briefly about how the two of them would often share the hammock as kids. Eddie unceremoniously plopped himself in and fought for space so often that it became customary. He never did it to anyone but Richie though. He was the only one.

Richie braves putting an arm around Eddie and at first Eddie’s spine goes rigid. He’s not ready to think about this, not even sure if acting on it is right yet. He still feels far away from all this even as he Richie’s body heat cradles him.

Something about the way Richie’s hand cups the small of his stomach feels…good. Eddie’s body relaxes and he realizes how fucking exhausted he is. It’s been an exceptionally long 48 hours. A little shut eye and a cuddle isn’t so ludicrous. Even if it is with Richie Trashmouth Tozier.

“Just keep it in your pants,” Eddie yawns before falling asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Eddie is released before Richie wakes up. The cop that took over in the morning didn’t say anything about Eddie and Richie sharing a bed for the night but Eddie could tell it made him uncomfortable. He looked a bit younger than Eddie and acted like discharging him was some awkward task to deal with. He never even looked Eddie in the eye.**  
**

_This town doesn’t really change, does it?_ Eddie thinks as he starts the long walk back to the small inn he and the other Losers have taken temporary residence in.

Eddie was shocked that Richie didn’t even so much as stir when he left. He’s an incredibly heavy sleeper but he also cuddles like a fucking octopus. Eddie had to untangle a mess of long arms and legs to free himself. Richie’s entire body had been grappled onto every part of Eddie. For a minute Eddie thought he might need the jaws of life to get out.

The morning weather is cold but Derry always feels cold. Unless you happened to catch it in the full swing of summer, Derry is essentially an icebox disguised as a small town. Eddie zips up his hoodie and shoves his hands in his pockets.

_‘You’ll catch a cold, Eddie! You need a sweater and some thick socks!’_

The echo of his mother’s voice makes his stomach surge. Eddie knows damn well that a chill breeze cannot possibly give him a cold but he can’t help the anxiety that rises from the thought. She used to say other nonsensical shit too like a cold can kill a man if you don’t treat it right away or that being too close to the microwave would give a person cancer.

It didn’t stop at radiation and weather either. Mrs. Kapsbrack had fully deceived her son into a number of lies about sex too. Masturbation makes you blind, having sex can kill you, touch it too much and it’ll fall off; Sonia Kapsbrack had the entire discography of abstinence only rhetoric on loop.

Eddie knows logically that none of these things are true but he knows it now. For two solid decades of his life he had believed his mother. He thought her word was gospel. Even in his twenties, it took time to come around to the truth because, what if the world was wrong and Sonia was right? Could he risk that?

Eddie spitefully unzips his jacket.

By the time Eddie was in his mid thirties he knew better but the paranoia lingers even today. In the time he’d been married to Myra he can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve had sex. Really it comes down to a once a year event and one Eddie never looks forward to. Bless Myra, she really tried sometimes but for the rare occasions of fancy home cooked meals and lingerie Eddie ended up losing his appetite and turning off all the lights. Myra got ten minutes of action annually while Eddie never managed to get off. Myra never was happy with that but Eddie wonders if she’d been happy with anything in their marriage.

Eddie shrugs out of the jacket and doesn’t look back as it slides off into the street.

Eddie might have had options. He may have had several people interested in him at any given moment but he was raised with blinders on and marriage ensured those blinders stayed. Eddie realizes that he never had the awareness, let alone the confidence to pursue anyone except Myra. His mother had led him into near celibacy through his hypochondriac training. If she hadn’t died would Myra have ever been a thing? Or would he still be a virgin even now?

Maybe Eddie could like Richie. Maybe men weren’t off the menu for Eddie Kapsbrack but how is he to know that when even the default of heterosexuality was taught as a dirty and unfortunate? And poor Myra, poor fucking Myra. Eddie’s going to leave her and because of his dead mother who shouldn’t have had anything to do with his marriage but Sonia Kapsbrack is the catalyst for all of it. Everything Eddie is, everything he never chose to become, is because of her.

Eddie takes off his shirt and drops it as he starts running in the cold morning air. The breeze smothers his chest, perks his nipples and sends shivers down his spine. The cold hurts a little but tells him he’s alive.

A memory of his last visit to a therapist surfaces as catches himself on the kissing bridge. He takes a few deep breaths and remembers. It was grief therapy which he was sure made his mother turn in his grave but Myra had suggested it. Sonia may have hated therapists and shrinks but Myra swore by them.

After a single session, the therapist calmly asked if Eddie had ever heard about the term ‘emotional incest.’ After a quick explanation, Eddie chose never to return to therapy ever again. Eddie is horrified and enraged as he stands on the bridge now and lets out a primal scream because Sonia Kapsbrack really did it. She committed emotional incest and Eddie feels the violation of it rack over his body.

_‘Eddie, you can’t go out.’_

_‘Eddie, girls like that carry diseases.’_

_‘Eddie, don’t get too close, he might have AIDS.’_

_‘Eddie, you’ll never leave mommy right? You wouldn’t want me to die alone.’_

And he had done just that. He stayed with her the entirety that their lives intersected. He even held her hand and watched cancer thin her down to skin and bones until there was nothing left. He never had a choice.

_‘Eddie, you have to wear socks even inside. You could get sick.’_

Eddie steps out of his shoes and pulls his socks off. He throws them into the barrens with as much force as he can muster. The asphalt under his feet is rough and unforgiving. He smiles and it’s manic and he keeps running.

—

Ben is waking up alone but he remembers not going to bed alone. Very clearly, he recalls Beverly and her soft mouth and her smooth curves. He took her in like she was sacred because to him she always had been. Last night had been spiritual experience because for so long Bev had only been a memory folded in a wallet. In a single night she went from paper to full flesh.

Keeping that yearbook page in his wallet had been like carrying around a religious artifact. So often it boosted the faith he needed to have in himself. It told him with little hearts and an old signature that he was worth looking at, worth helping, worth talking to. It had torn him apart to have thrown it in the fire but he’d burn a million memories if meant holding her.

As quickly as he had bedded her she’s gone though. Ben can still smell her soap on the sheets. It’s not the first time Ben’s woken up to an empty bed. It’s not as if he’s been celibate for the last twenty seven years. But he wasn’t very good at giving reasons for women to stay. It’s like they already knew his heart was somewhere else. Ben should be okay waking up to this familiar scene except…

“…Beverly?” he calls out softly, hoping that maybe she’s just in the bathroom.

There’s no response.

Ben gets himself showered and dressed. He can’t help but wonder if he’d done something wrong. Was having sex going too fast? It’s not like he declared his undying love for her but he supposes that he didn’t really need to. No one keeps a signature in their wallet for almost three decades because they’re just buddies.

Ben walks up to Bev’s door and hears her pacing and yelling. It’s a one sided conversation so Ben presumes she must be on the phone. Through the thin walls he can make out a few phrases and keywords. The words ‘divorce’ and ‘lawyer’ come up quite a bit. Against Ben’s better judgement, he presses his ear to the door to better listen in.

“You can have the business, you can keep the money but you can’t have me. Fuck you.”

Ben startles as it sounds like Bev has thrown her phone against the wall. Ben regrets invading her privacy but feels compelled to comfort her. It sounds like her husband is a real asshole and that the divorce is going to be messy. Ben isn’t sure what words to offer her.

Ben is about to knock on her door but then gets an idea. He makes a beeline to his room and rips a blank page out of the guestbook. He argues with himself the whole journey back to Bev’s door. He insists to himself that this is childish and unnecessary. She’ll think it’s stupid. It won’t help. Ben still sits down though and scribbles out a message.

_You okay? - Ben_

He gives the door a soft knock and slides the page underneath. A few minutes pass. It feels like the longest two minutes of Ben’s life and his insecurity bombards him. Of course this wouldn’t work. It’s dumb and foolish and Ben should know better. He’s a grown man after all.

The paper returns from under the frame.

_No. - Bev_

It’s an odd approach but at least it begets an honest answer. Ben uses the door as a writing surface. It’s shocking to think this method is even going anywhere but Ben figures it’s best to continue. At least Bev’s talking. He has a feeling that if he’d gone with the first choice and simply knocked that he wouldn’t have gotten far.

_Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want to talk?_

He stops signing it at this point. It’s not as if the whole gang is sitting in the hallway passing notes to Bev. This time it takes a lot longer for her to reply. Ben takes in the moulding on the door frame as he waits. Despite many of his designs taking a modern approach he really likes looking at the old stuff. He wonders briefly how he might create designs with modern benefits but a nostalgic look. The note slide out slowly this time.

_I’m sorry I left._

Ben appreciates the sentiment but he has a thousand questions to ask about it. If Bev is sorry then why did she do it? Did something happen? Did Ben mess up? Did he hurt her or make her feel unsafe? All of this takes a backseat to the present situation though.

_You have a lot on your mind. I want to help. Can I come in?_

Ben stands to his feet as he hears the latch on the other side coming undone. Beverly is red faced but composed. She’s in a bathrobe and slippers. By the door he sees the tennis shoes he’d picked up for her yesterday after she’d thrown all her clothes from earlier in the day away. He knows she’s only using them out of necessity but he likes to think that maybe she likes them. He chose a pair that was black and burgundy. He remembered that Bev liked burgundy.

“You’re really nice,” Bev says quietly.

“I don’t try to be,” Ben shrugs and tell himself not to move in and hold her, “I’m just me”

“I know. That’s what I love about you.”

Ben smiles at the word ‘love’. He can’t help it. Bev smiles back and Ben falls in love with her all over again. She’s so much more than beautiful. She’s strong and kind and smart. Ben always secretly regarded her as the real leader of the group. He loves Bill and, yes, they often all followed him but secretly Ben followed Beverly. He’d follow her anywhere if she only asked.

“Ben,” her smile falters, “I’m going through something right now. It’s not easy and I’m trying to figure out who I am. You’re very sweet but I-”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Ben interrupts, already sensing where she’s going.

Ben understands that Bev’s life is complicated right now. He gets that maybe last night had some bad timing. He wants to say this but doesn’t. Something about the look in Bev’s eyes tells him that he doesn’t need to.

“All of this is on your terms,” he continues, “All I’m asking you is please, _please_, don’t shut me out.”

Bev wraps herself around Ben in a genuine embrace. She doesn’t cry but he can feel the emotions coming off of her in waves. Anger, fear, even sadness sheds from her as he holds her. He absorbs those feelings, welcomes them even, because it doesn’t hurt. Ben’s nose rests on her fiery colored hair as he processes those emotions for her,

“I got you,” he whispers into her hair, “You’re not alone, Bev.”

—

Richie is a free man.

Roger barely needed to work much lawyer magic and like a trooper he rolled right into the station the second he got into town. Grand total it took about an hour for Roger to convince Detective Lopez to let Richie go.

“How’d you get her to listen? I mean I’ve played some tough crowds but this chick was like a concrete wall,” Richie questions his lawyer.

Roger is exhausted and doesn’t answer right away. He seems half asleep at the wheel and it occurs to Richie how much his team cares about him. Even with the decent dollar signs attached to Richie, it’s worth noting that Roger drove through the night just for him. But then Richie’s had the same team since the beginning and they’ve known him since he was an eighteen year old little snot doing standup at open mic.

“It was easy,” Roger answers with a yawn, “I didn’t bullshit her. Made sure she knew it was a waste of resources to go after you.”

Richie definitely senses the emphasis of the word ‘bullshit’ aimed at him. He lets it slide though because he’s so deeply relieved not to be going to court or to jail for that matter. Richie knows damn well that he wouldn’t last a single night in the big house. He’d absolutely piss off the wrong person and either end up dead or somebody’s bitch. Richie doesn’t ever care to find out which.

“You’ll love the bed and breakfast we’re at,” Richie says as he looks out the window of Roger’s car, “and by love I mean hate. It looks like someone’s great aunt threw up upholstery. But it’s a place to sleep right? And once you’re rested you’ll come bail out ol’ Billy boy this afternoon.”

“Yeah, Richie, about that…”

“What?”

Roger looks incredibly guilty as he follows the GPS’s last instruction. He parks on the street and shuts the car off. Richie doesn’t like where this is going.

“Look, kid,” Roger sighs, “I meant it when I said I’d come back for your friend this afternoon but it’s not to get him out. I’m going back to talk out his story and see if I can prove him innocent.”

Richie feels bile rising up his throat. He can’t stand his stomach and the way it refuses to sit with anything terrible. Roger is equal parts apologetic and resigned. His bald head has the smallest bit of sweat on it, his mustache obscures any expression in his lip but his eyes say it all.

“You lied to me,” Richie is furious nonetheless.

“No. No, I never said I was coming back for anything specific. I said I was coming back for him I never said why.”

“Oh fuck you, Roger! A lie by omission is still a lie, you prick!”

“Hey! I got you out didn’t I?” Roger gets defensive now, “And I am going back for the other guy! I don’t have to do that, Richie, but I am. For you.”

Richie absorbs this in and pulls back his anger. Roger pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Richie has no reason to doubt the man but air between them still asks for further explanation.

“Detective Lopez doesn’t have much choice except to arrest Bill and send him to court,” Roger explains, “A kid died, Richie. The pressure from his parents alone is enough to force her hand let alone the rest of the community. Who ever heard of a small town brushing off a dead child?”

“You don’t know Derry,” Richie replies sarcastically.

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe the Derry you grew up in and the Derry that exists now are different. Who am I to say? I don’t know and I don’t care much either. My condolences to the deceased and all but I’m certain your buddy didn’t do it. If he’s as good as you say he is I believe you and I’ll help him out.”

“I could hug you right now.”

“Oh, Jesus, spare me the theatrics, Richie.”

“Nope. We’re hugging. Come here.”

Roger makes a show of not reciprocating at first but then relents and pats Richie on the back. In many ways, Roger is like the lawyer uncle Richie never had. He sees him at holidays and when he’s in trouble. Really his whole team is like that, a family.

“I’m going to make a couple of calls before I head in,” Roger says before digging out his cell phone, “I remember a buddy of mine who used to teach had some super student from Maine. Henry Beaver or Reevers or something. Maybe he can give me an idea of what I’m working with in this state.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go ahead and get you set up. Room’s on me.”

“You’re not deducting that from my pay.”

“Fuck you too, Roger.”

Richie leaves his lawyer to his calls. Luckily, the old lady who runs the place is available and manages to get a room together quickly. It’s the last one too. Richie is bouncing from nerves. He has confidence in Roger but he can’t help the nervousness bubbling up inside.

“His name is Roger Clemmings, just give him his key and let him up,” Richie explains, “he’s had a rough night.”

“Of course, dear,” the older woman answers.

Richie hears the front door opening behind him. He spins around, expecting Roger but instead finds Eddie half naked and shoeless. He’s shaking and completely out of breath.

“Eddie?” he rushes over to him out of concern and starts looking him over for injury, “Jesus Christ. What happened? Are you okay?”

“No. Yes. No. Yes and no.”

“Honey, do you need me to call the police?” the innkeeper asks, her hand already on the phone and ready to go.

“No. No. I’m fine. My whole world is falling apart but I’m fine.”

Richie takes off his coat and wraps it around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie is having a full on mental breakdown and Richie is terrified. He tries to catch Eddie’s eyes with his own but they stare vacantly at nothing. Richie assures the woman behind the counter that he’ll see to Eddie.

Suddenly the door opens again. Roger is pulling in a suitcase and fumbling with a text message. He doesn’t see Richie and his shirtless friend but Richie panics. He grabs Eddie by the arm and pulls him into the nearest door. He crams into the tight space with him and shuts the door behind him all before Roger can see.

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice is close by in the dark.

Richie shushes him harshly. He listens as Roger chats up the older woman. She has the decency not to say anything about Richie’s sudden escape and Richie lets the momentary relief wash over him.

“Richie?” Eddie whispers this time.

“Yeah?”

“We’re in a closet.”

Richie would laugh if it wasn’t so painfully on the nose.

“Why are we in a closet?” Eddie expands.

“Oh, Eds, I wish I could answer that.”

The old woman and Roger are still talking. She’s chatting him up and Richie wants to take back every kind word he thought about her just seconds ago.

“Fuck,” Richie whisper screams, “what part about ‘just let him up’ doesn’t she understand?”

The closet Richie has trapped them in is housing a broom with dust pan and a handful of coats on one side. It smells a bit like mothballs and cinnamon. It’s not the worst place to inadvertently imprison oneself. Richie rests his forehead against the door and groans quietly.

“Richie?” Eddie asks again.

Richie turns toward his voice and instantly regrets his life choices. Because Eddie is so close. He’s too close. There’s maybe half an inch of distance between them. Richie’s insides split in two directions; wanting to get even closer and wanting to run away.

“…Eds” Richie answers finally.

Eddie puts his hands on Richie’s shoulder. Richie feels like that contact is going to cause him to pass out. Eddie’s fingers find the collar of Richie’s button up shirt and gently tug at him, collar and all, closer to Eddie.

“E- Eddie?” Richie’s old habits act up, “I know this is a romantic venue and all but-”

Richie doesn’t have time to diffuse the situation with humor because Eddie kisses him. He kisses him and-

_This is fucking weird… _Richie thinks.

Eddie’s lips are tightly lined. It feels almost like he’s grimacing. It’s as if he’s not committing to anything more than pressing his lips against Richie’s in the most non intimate way possible. Eddie stiffly ends the kiss and takes a half step back.

“Ah, okay,” Richie doesn’t know how to respond, “that, um, happened.”

“I didn’t feel anything…” Eddie says, sounding a thousand miles away.

“Well maybe if you didn’t kiss like mashing two dolls together!” Richie cries in his own defense, “Jesus, who taught you to swap spit?”

“I kind of didn’t learn actually.”

_Excuse me?_ Richie thinks as he thanks the dark for hiding his expression.

“I always thought kissing would get you herpes,” Eddie explains quietly, “and by the time I knew better it didn’t matter. I kissed my wife at our wedding but I don’t really. I don’t kiss often.”

This is absolutely horrifying information for someone like Richie who, on more than a few occasions, has referred to himself as a slut.

“Wait, you’re not a- are you a virgin, Eddie?”

“No, asshole!” Eddie says a bit too loudly.

Richie hushes him again. He brings an ear to the door of the closet and listens. He hears the old woman chuckling at something Roger said. He curses under breath. Richie is desperate to get out of this closet, out of this conversation. It’s so painfully awkward.

“Think about it, Richie,” Eddie brings the topic back up, “think about the kind of mom I had. She didn’t want me to roll around in grass what the fuck do you think she told me about taking a- a roll in the hay?”

“You did not just make a Young Frankenstein reference instead of saying the word ‘sex’,” Richie is at his wit’s end.

_He might as well be a virgin_, Richie thinks, _I haven’t had virgin since I was a teenager._

“I’m pretty sure that that phrase is older than Young Frankenstein, just saying,” Eddie points out, “And if you’re going to make fun of me then you can cancel our date thing. Fuck it. Fuck you”

“No!” Richie whisper yells.

Even after being told point blank that there’s no chemistry and that Eddie has been about as intimate as an artificial insemination, Richie isn’t ready to give up. Sure, it’s a little daunting to be faced with Eddie’s circumstances but who cares? What Richie saw in the final showdown, how he felt when he thought he lost Eddie for good, that means something. Richie can feel that in his goddamn guts.

“You really, really, don’t really know how this works?”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“I’m seriously asking, Eds.”

Eddie mumbles his answer but Richie can tell it’s a yes. Richie decides to get down from his slutty high horse and really think about Eddie’s position. Richie knows what it’s like to wake up to sexuality. He’d slept with mostly women in his lifetime and he found it passable. It was about as thrilling as jerking off into a sock albeit far more comfortable. But men were a different story. 

Richie has slept with a man before and it threw his entire life out of whack. It was nearly a holy experience and it almost got him out of the closet. Almost. By then he already had an established career as a straight man though and the idea of losing his career wasn’t worth the risk. Not even his team knows about his true proclivities. Which now that Richie thinks about it is entirely the reason he and Eddie are in this closet right now.

Richie can see Eddie in the dark. He can make out those puppy dog eyes looking off to the side in embarrassment. He sees generalized textures in his silhouette and good God does he find him beautiful. He wants to reach his hands under the borrowed jacket hanging off Eddie’s torso and touch everything he can.

_You’ll freak him out_, Richie stops himself, h_e can’t even kiss right and you want to grope him. Fucking relax. Shit._

“So I’ll show you what I know,” Richie settles, “as long as you’re feeling it I’ll keep going and if you’re not it’s cool. I mean I’m an asshole but I’m not a total asshole.”

Richie can see Eddie thinking the offer over. Richie’s spare coat moves in the dark in what looks like a shrug.

“Okay. Sure. Fuck it. Why not?”

“Real romantic of you, Eddie spaghetti.”

“Wow. I haven’t heard you call me that since we were kids. Good to know all your material is stagnant.”

Richie chuckles because honestly? That was a solid comeback. Eddie smiles back and chuckles. They both stand there laughing quietly in the dark like kids. Richie isn’t thinking about the fact that they’re stuck in here anymore. He just realizes that he likes Eddie smiling as much as he likes him pouting and annoyed. The moment fizzles out and they’re just staring at each other for a solid minute.

Richie gives Eddie a quick peck on the lips because he can’t take it anymore. He has to give something to him, something better than that sad excuse of a kiss from earlier. Richie pulls back quickly, worried that he may have been too fast. He’s genuinely surprised to have Eddie mimic the maneuver.

Richie isn’t sure if it’s the close quarters of the smell of sweat coming off of Eddie that’s putting him on a high but he goes with it. He leans his body into Eddie’s. Eddie’s back gently hits the back wall but Richie takes care not to dominate the position. He kisses Eddie again, slowly and softly. Eddie repeats the gesture and this is what Richie had been picturing all this time.

Richie licks Eddie’s bottom lip, prompting him and Eddie takes to it like a natural. Eddie’s mouth is a little dry but that’s to be expected since he had physically exerted himself earlier. Richie doesn’t care. He lets his tongue wet Eddie’s and together their kiss moves into something makes the whole closet feel hot and heavy.

Eddie places his hands on Richie’s hips and the contact sends strong signals to his member. Eddie gives a cautious bite to Richie’s lower lip that comes off as seductive, coy even. Richie can’t tell if this is experimental or if Eddie’s really feeling it but right now he doesn’t care. It feels good. Eddie feels good and Richie’s been wanting this for a long time.

“I thought you didn’t know what you’re doing,” Richie swallows hard as they break their kiss.

“Don’t ruin it,” Eddie murmurs and kisses him again.

Light floods into the closet and the older woman squeaks at finding the two men in their compromising position.

“Christ!” Richie shouts and flings himself as far away from Eddie as physically possible.

“Oh! Oh my!” the woman continues to stammer, “No! It’s fine, boys! I’m- I’m hip! My nephew is a homosexual! He and his boyfriend are wonderful people!”

Eddie silently exits the closet and heads upstairs, leaving Richie to the awkwardness alone. Richie doesn’t see this silent escape until it’s too late.

“Well, we’re not exactly boyfriends-” Richie desperately tries to rouse some sort of explanation.

“It’s fine! Really! I prefer people do those sort of things in their rooms but you’re not the first couple I’ve stumbled on in there! No shame, sweetie! No shame!”

Richie seems to put his embarrassment aside as his ear picks up on that last fact.

“Really? Other people have done this?”

“Well,” she retracts a bit, “maybe not in the same manner as you. But I’ve found a couple or two after a stormy night entangled in there. Don’t feel bad.”

She may be the first person ever to directly tell Richie not to be ashamed of what he’s done with another man. Richie really looks at her for the first time; she’s upwards of sixty for sure and dressed like a Stevie Nicks impersonator. She’s not cookie cutter like so much of Derry was and still is. Richie berates himself for making fun of her interior decorating earlier.

“What’s your name again?” he asks her.

“Doris,” she answers slowly, “I’m pretty sure I said that when we met.”

“I had a lot on my mind then and I’m kind of an asshole.”

Doris nods in consideration which makes Richie laugh. He starts to head up the stairs.

“Well Doris, you’re getting an excellent Yelp review after all this.”

“Oh good,” Doris smiles.

Richie can barely contain himself at the top step as he hears Doris mutter to herself:

“The fuck is a yelp?"


	4. Chapter 4

Roger Clemmings looks exhausted. The bags under his eyes look like they’re packed enough to make a getaway to Mexico. Bill isn’t entirely sure that he shouldn’t steal the idea from them but he wouldn’t get far now that he’s behind bars. It’s a passing thought though. Bill sobers up as Roger runs a thumb across his brow in an attempt to stay awake.

“Mr. Clemmings-”

“I told you, call me Roger, please. I’ve represented celebrities such as yourself many times and it feels phony to be called Mr anything.”

“Roger,” Bill corrects awkwardly, “We’ve gone over this story for hours. I’ve answered every single question you have in triplicate. You need to sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I’m sure Satan’s got a suite ready to go.”

“Satan?”

“All lawyers go to hell? It’s a joke, Bill. Jesus. You’d think Richie’s humor would rub off on me but hey, I’m not quitting my day job.”

“Lucky me,” Bill responds through a tight grin.

Roger chuckles a little and Bill isn’t sure if it’s genuine or if the exhaustion is settling in. The longer they sit here the less Bill feels anything is genuine. He’s doing his absolute best not to lie outright. He’s not entirely sure he could sell it. Instead he’s practicing the art of omission. He saw _ something _ that looked like an attack maybe by an animal or some creature but he couldn’t stop it.

“The biggest problem we have is why didn’t you report it?”

“I was traumatized,” Bill says flatly and quickly as if trained to respond.

“I’m aware. You’re going to have to find a way to convince a jury of that.”

“Eventually,” Bill sighs.

Bill isn’t completely ignorant about legal proceedings. He did research into writing a realistic crime thriller once but the pacing was too slow for his taste. A case, even a murder case, could take up to two years to get to trial. In the meantime, Bill’s in prison. There isn’t a judge alive that would realistically put out a potential child murderer on bail.

“Eventually my ass,” Roger snorts, “They’ll want to put you away as soon as possible and a small town like this? You best believe they won’t put you on the back burner the way a major city would. Look, not only will I be pushing this case to trial but so will opposing counsel, the parents, law enforcement, hell the town itself will probably be out for blood.”

“What else is new?”

Roger furrows his brow in irritation.

“Okay, that. What is it with that? You and Richie have a hard time in this town or what? I mean, the bully who turned out to be a psychopath I get but you have issues with the entire town?”

Bill doesn’t answer because there’s no point. Of course he has issues with this entire town but Roger isn’t going to understand that. This town was more than happy to sacrifice him and his friends back in the 80's, whether that be to the town bully or grief or their own toxic families. How much had Bill and the other Losers even accomplished by getting rid of It? There were plenty of other monsters waiting in the wings.

The most any of this did was absolve Bill of guilt and stop one of the many predators in this shit hole of a town in Maine. And what good did personal absolution do when he’s sitting here handcuffed to a table?

“Fine,” Roger yawns, “but I’m telling you now that any secrets you keep from me will only hurt your chances.”

Roger gathers up various paper and files into a bag. The man works quickly and the amount of information he’s gathered is staggering though Bill isn’t sure it’s all pertinent. Roger’s efficient and that’s commendable. Bill feels a fleeting urge to share some of the childhood trauma he’s experienced maybe because Roger is so thorough and maybe divulging a few facts wouldn’t hurt. It’s tempting but ultimately Bill says nothing.

“I’ve got a contact that’s working with me on your case. I’ll give him a call, see if he’s still up. Maybe we can finagle an argument for bail. I don’t know.”

Bill feels nervous at the sight of Roger leaving even though he just moments ago told him to get some sleep. Once the lawyer leaves it’s any guessing what will happen to Bill. Sure, he’s in the pokey for now but what if they formally charge him? What if he’s moved to a real prison before morning?

_ A couple of days ago, my biggest worry was the shitty ending to my shitty movie. How’s this for an ending? _ Bill slumps back into his uncomfortable metal chair.

It comes back to Bill almost like a punch to the gut. His movie...which stars his wife. He’s got a job and a marriage waiting for him and no one knows the trouble he’s gotten into yet. Not that there hadn’t been opportunities to share this information. His voicemail is full of calls from Audra and the producers and the director. The movie falling apart isn’t such a big deal to Bill but not once did Bill give Audra even the slightest clue what he was up to. He just got on a plane and left.

“I’ll let Richie know how things are going if that’s okay, to a point of course, he doesn’t need a full run down. Anything you need from me on the outside?”

Bill nods as his mind searches for Audra’s phone number.

___

  
  


Bev isn’t surprised to find herself at Richie’s door again. She still hesitates to knock given that it’s after ten but then again Richie doesn’t strike her as the type to curl up into bed before two in the morning. When Richie answers it’s clear she’s right. He has a drink in his hand and a cell phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bev whispers, “I can come back later or-”

Richie shakes his head and waves her in. She stands there awkwardly as Richie closes the door with his butt and continues his phone call.

“Tell them I had a death in the family or some shit. I don’t care. I need time off.”

Richie walks towards his bourbon bottle and gestures a glass toward Bev. She quietly replies with a no thank you and Richie doubles down on his glass instead.

“For the last time, I am _ not _ on a bender. Fuck. A guy takes ecstasy on accident once and-”

Bev tries to stifle her confused expression but doesn’t manage. Richie tries to assure her by mouthing that it’s ‘no biggie’ before taking a big gulp of his drink. It occurs to Bev that she doesn’t know much about Richie and who he is now. Or any of the other Losers for that matter. Seeing Richie drown himself in cheap liquor doesn’t feel very promising. Richie looks manic too, sweat deflating his hair, and he won't sit down. 

Bev quietly crosses the room and takes the bourbon bottle away from Richie. He barely registers this and instead continues to pace the floor, his drink dangerously flirting with the rim of the glass as he moves.

“I promise, I will never cause trouble like this again. I swear. And I will come back. But I have to stay here for a while and I don’t know how long that is. I’m sorry.”

Richie hangs up and leaves the phone on the end table. He runs his fingers through his messy hair and Bev puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Just career stuff. It’s fine. It’s not worth talking about but,” Richie rouses a smile, “I think we should talk about you coming around to my room again. If you’ve got a crush on me I’ve got some bad news, Bev.”

Bev smiles back before taking Richie by the hand and sitting with him on the bed again. It’s a comfortable spot for them now as it seems even Richie calms down upon taking a seat. Bev gives Richie’s fingers a soft squeeze.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks, “It’s going to sound a little stupid but-”

“I swear to God whatever it is it isn’t as stupid as what I did today so- ah, fuck me, nevermind. You first.”

“What did you do?” Bev asks, her interests piqued.

“No deal. You first and then I will give you my exclusive.”

Bev considers this for a moment and decides it may not be bad to allow precedence for herself. She lets go of Richie’s hand and brings her knees to her chest. She suddenly feels like a teenager again both a little ashamed and wildly excited to share her news.

“I slept with Ben,” she says quickly.

Richie hoops and hollers at this. His wolf whistle is impeccable and Bev can’t hide her grin as she shushes him.

“It’s complicated!” she argues as Richie settles.

“Why? Even if I was straight enough to shit football jerseys I’d still say he’s hot.”

“This isn’t about how Ben looks. It’s about Ben being… Ben,” Bev changes the mood by how quiet the end of her sentence becomes.

Richie puts his humor aside and Bev retracts her emotions as quickly as she displayed them. She sits properly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The idea of looking openly wounded feels physically painful, even in front of Richie and especially when he’s taking her so seriously.

“I’m still married,” she covers, “But I really do like Ben... I think. We haven’t seen each other in almost thirty years so I don’t really know-”

“Bull shit,” Richie lays back on the bed with a heavy sigh.

“Excuse me?” Bev sounds a bit offended.

“I mean it’s convenient bull shit but it is what it is. I tried to tell myself the same thing about Eddie; how could I possibly have feelings for him when I haven’t seen him in almost three fucking decades? But goddamn, he’s still the same pocket sized little weirdo and I love him.”

“Richie,” she interrupts awkwardly, “I don’t know that I love Ben. It’s not really the same thing.”

Richie turns a light shade of embarrassment across his cheeks. It’s hard to tell underneath those thick frames of his but Bev catches it before Richie throws his forearm over his face.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just a selfish prick. I’ll shut up.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

It’s makes Bev smile to hear Richie chuckle at that. She then decides to follow suit and lies down next to him. The ceiling in his room is covered in aging paint and little grooves.

“So, how do you feel about ol haystack Ben?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s the truth on a larger scale. As to why Bev doesn’t know is more complicated. At some point she’ll have to talk to someone about her soon to be ex husband. The idea of opening that can of worms makes her stomach lurch but it’s a reality she’s doomed to face. It’s not as if she can just put Tom in a box and ride off into the sunset right? It can’t be that easy but then that doesn’t mean Bev can’t try to make it that easy.

“Ben isn’t the kind of guy I’m used to,” she safely skirts the real issue, “and to be honest, I still have some feelings…”

“Well, I don’t know how long you were married to whatever the fuck his name is but you said you were happy when you came to town and yesterday you made your divorce sound overdue. Must be a Six Flag’s level emotional roller coaster you’re on.”

Richie assumed Bev meant Tom. She didn’t.

“His name is Tom. And those leftover feelings aren’t for him. Fuck Tom.”

“Then who..?”

There’s a beat of silence as Richie puts things together. Bev feels ridiculously embarrassed by the fact that he _ can _ make the right assumption. At the same time though, it spared her from having to say it herself.

“Bill?” he asks and Bev can feel his eyes on her, “Does he know? Does Ben?”

“Bill and I kissed. Before we headed to the cistern. So I think Bill knows,” she responds flatly.

“Beverly, you saucy minx,” Richie makes an attempt at levity before immediately regretting it, “Sorry. I’m an idiot. Ignore that.”

It’s too late though and Bev feels her defenses cracking. Richie wasn’t trying to insult her but the joke still hits too close to home. Somewhere in the back of her mind Tom’s voice steadily grows stronger. Her father’s voice joins him. What kind of married woman kisses one man and sleeps with another? What kind of whore plays the field? What bitch throws herself at a married man?

Bev sits up and pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her bathrobe. She lights up and starts to drain the cigarette on her lips as fast as possible, thinking only of lighting the next then the next.

“Bev?” Richie sits up with her, “This isn’t the 50’s. You can’t smoke in here.”

She ignores him and sucks down nicotine spitefully. Her hands start to steady and the ghosts of her past begin to silence.

“Are you okay?” Richie asks cautiously, “I’m starting to sense that maybe there’s more than a love triangle going on here.”

That shocks her nerves all over again.

Bev debates taking the stump of what’s left on her cancer stick and shoving it into her thigh. She hasn’t done that since high school but she remembers the feeling and her skin has kept track with little round scars. Back then she didn’t know why she would suddenly feel so angry and small but it makes sense now. Bev always knew her dad was bad but now she remembers just how bad and all that pain makes more sense.

The fact that she married Tom, a carbon copy of her father, makes her skin crawl and she’s not sure there’s enough nicotine in the world to make her forget that he’d touched her.

Bev puts the cigarette out on the carpet grinding it out with the toe of her slipper. She then immediately goes to light a second.

“Hey, stop! Stop!” Richie implores her and grabs her by the wrist to keep her from lighting up.

“Don’t _ fucking _ touch me!” Bev recoils out of instinct and is now standing, holding her wrist to her chest.

The pack of cigarettes are splayed out on the floor and the lighter lays abandoned on the bed. Richie looks equally abandoned as he stares at Bev. It makes her feel like a freak. The wounded sneer that she’d made dissipates into something almost apologetic.

“I should go,” Bev says quietly.

“Bev… where’d those bruises come from?”

Bev is mortified as she realizes how on display the green and yellow prints are. It’s clearly in the pattern of a hand wrapped around her wrist. It’s Tom’s fingers still pressed into her skin. She quickly drops her arm and lets the sleeve of her robe follow.

“Bev, is Tom… did he-“

Beverly ignores Richie’s attempt to make verbal the very thing she wants to keep secret. She drops to her knees and scrambles to recollect her cigarettes. She throws them into her pocket and makes way for the door.

“Wait! Hold on! Just wait!”

Richie tries desperately to follow her. She knows it’s not his fault. She knows he wants to help but she can’t stand the thought of him knowing any more than he already does. What he’s already pieced together is more than she wanted to give. She had come here to talk about Ben and ultimately gave herself and her fucked up marriage away.

Beverly holds the door closed. She grips the knob with everything she’s got even as Richie tries to open it. He helplessly bangs on the door.

“Bev? C’mon Bev! I’m sorry!”

He stops eventually and Beverly lets go of the handle. Quietly she returns to her room and locks the safety latch. The loneliness of her suite overwhelms her. Her tears are hot, burning and shameful. Her throat makes noises like a hurt animal. Bev’s never felt more ugly in her life.

—-

“Are you sure alcohol is a good idea?” Mike asks Eddie, “since y’know, you’ve got a hole in your cheek?”

“If I can make out with Richie I think can handle a beer.”

“...what?”

Mike doesn’t get an answer though as the bartender comes around with his drink. It’s an old fashioned. The rind on his orange spice looks a bit spotty but he doesn’t say anything. It’s a dive bar after all.

Mike goes to take a sip and Eddie suddenly comes back to life.

“You know I went on a date with him today? Dinner. I went to dinner with fucking Richie Tozier. I don’t know what I was expecting after making out in a closet-“

“Wait a minute-“ Mike tries to interject but Eddie’s rant keeps going.

“I mean I felt something then but this dinner? This excuse for a date was so awkward and quiet. _ Quiet _, Mike. Do you know how weird it is to sit with Richie and he doesn’t say anything? At all?”

“Eddie!” Mike borders on shouting and some of the regulars eye him for it.

“What?” Eddie asks blankly.

Mike carefully assesses the room. It looks like a handful of factory workers and a retired old guy. All of them are sporting stubble, sweat and trucker hats. They’re either hypnotized by the football game playing on the big screen or the pool table. It’s not the worst scenario but it’s not ideal. If it had been a bit earlier in the day they’d be amongst the swinger crowd and this conversation could be louder but they’re not.

“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about then you’re going to need to lower your voice. A lot. And follow up question; are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” Mike says in a hushed tone.

Eddie looks a little lost.

“What do you mean?”

Mike tries not to roll his eyes because he’s pretty sure Eddie isn’t purposefully being clueless. The guy just really likes to talk in a long, ridiculous stream and when he’s cut off it’s like someone ripped the rug right out from under him.

“You and Richie,” Mike says even quieter, “you two are- uh”

Mike feels inclined to make a gesture here instead of saying anything concrete but what gesture to make is beyond him. Instead he helplessly looks at Eddie hoping he’ll fill in the blanks without saying anything out loud.

“Oh!” Eddie’s eyes light up, “yes! I mean no. I don’t know? As it turns out my entire life is a lie so I could be or I may not be. Isn’t this shit supposed to be fluid? I thought I read somewhere that it’s all a spectrum.”

Mike is flabbergasted into silence and it allows Eddie to continue his mile a minute rant. He mentions something about generational differences and a Ted Talk. All of it makes Mike’s head spin. By the time Eddie goes to catch his breath Mike’s old fashioned is gone.

“Eddie,” Mike takes his chance quickly, “I think I’m more shocked at the you and _ Richie _ part. Maybe not so much the other…thing.”

“Are you trying to say that me being gay doesn’t surprise you?”

Mike hushes him and makes the effort to subtly point at the burly men sitting within earshot. Eddie is not nearly as subtle as he whips around entirely and stares at them.

“Mike, I have literally speared a demonic spider clown in the fucking chest _ and _ given my dying mother a sponge bath. A group of glorified lumberjacks does not scare me.”

If Mike had any drink left he’d have choked on it from that comment. Instead he awkwardly clears his throat. The other men in the bar haven’t noticed Eddie yet and that’s for the best. Maybe Mike is being a bit overly cautious.

“The scariest thing, and I am aware of how stupid this sounds, is that I have no idea who I am anymore. And it’s not just maybe possibly being interested in Richie. It’s my whole life, Mike. I am in a mid life fucking crisis. Oh my God. I thought I was too sensible to have a midlife crisis. Oh God am I going to have to get a sports car? They’re death traps!”

Mike calls to the bartender by name. She’s not wearing a name tag but Mike knows she goes by Mary. Her full name is Marylynn and she’s twenty eight but looks thirty five. She’s still attractive but having a teen pregnancy aged her. Her son is...Adam? Mike is sure it starts with an A. It’s weird how many stories are burned in Mike’s brain and yet he’s featured in none of them.

Mike politely asks Mary if she’ll get down the half empty bottle of tequila from the shelf. She raises an eyebrow at the suggestion but Mike reassures her that he’ll make sure the little guy gets home safe. That’s enough for Mary and she leaves the men with a couple of shot glasses.

“That doesn’t seem safe. Or legal,” Eddie comments as Mike pours them both a shot.

“Mary knows me enough. I don’t drive home. And sure it’s not legal but a small town means a lot of under the table favors.”

Eddie nods as his fingers wrap around the small, slightly overfilled glass. He and Mike clink glasses and throw them back. Eddie coughs a bit as he resurfaces and Mike winces at the burn.

“You’re not sure about yourself,” Mike comments, “I feel that.”

Mike is already pouring the next shot but Eddie hesitates. He’s quiet now and Mike supposes it’s because he’s listening.

“I remembered everything that happened that summer. I never left Derry so the memories never left. I built my entire world around being ready for It.

Everyone moved away so quickly after the first time. It was like destiny. You were the second to last one. Do you remember that?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Bev went first but that was expected after what happened with her dad. Bill left next. I guess the trip him and his parents took helped them sort their troubles. Ben was never meant to stay more than a year once his dad got restationed. Richie’s dad got a job offer a state over that made twice his current salary. And then it was you and me and Stan. Mostly you and me.”

Eddie concentrates trying to rouse a memory but to no avail. Mike sees the sheepish resignation in his eyes as he gives in and takes another shot.

“It’s okay,” Mike reassures him, “It's not like you all left on purpose. And you didn’t forget out of negligence. It just is.

We all promised to stay in touch but once someone left they never called to leave a new number. It happened with Bev first of course and at first Richie thought it was because she didn’t care anymore. Ben knew better though. He piped up that Bev would _ never _ abandon us. So when Bill swore to call and that if he didn’t then it meant something had happened, we knew.

Now we had no idea of knowing exactly what happened when someone left Derry until Ben came up with the idea of getting just far enough from Derry to see if anything happened. We argued for days over the dangers of it. We thought maybe we all died if we left Derry, how were we to know?

So one night I snuck out from the farm and walked. For hours. That was the first time I came across the tribe. I won’t bore you with the details but the short of it is that I learned from them. They kept themselves far enough to not get hurt but close enough to remember. If I had gone any farther out I may have forgotten everything.”

Mike takes his second shot now. The burn is softer this time. He takes the opportunity to check over Eddie. He’s still quiet and calm. It’s like he’s absorbing all this information but what it’s going toward Mike isn’t sure. One of the factory workers hollers in excitement. Mary subtly pushes the bucket of peanuts at the bar closer to Eddie but he doesn’t notice. Mike feels it’s safe to continue.

“Everyone left knew they’d forget once they got out of Derry but it wasn’t anyone’s choice to stay or go. It was life. Except Stan. He was the last to leave because it took him so long to find a way out. He and I would have gone to high school together but he found a program for early college credit out where his aunt and uncle lived. Not that it mattered. Once Ben got the news he was out Stan stopped making a show of sticking around. He wanted to forget. I was surprised he’d even told me goodbye.”

Mike loads up a third shot for himself and Eddie takes his second. Once the glass is empty Mike fills it again. The alcohol keeps him weighted and that’s good. With how empty sharing is making him feel it’s nice to have something to keep him from floating away.

“For a while it was you and me and Richie really. Although it was hard to maintain much of a presence between the two of you. You were always arguing. Like a-“

Mike laughs because he suddenly gets it. Richie always teased people but he teased Eddie more. Eddie always took the bait. There was the more subtle stuff too like if one of them said they liked or didn’t like something the other would adjust accordingly. It was an effort to impress each other. Be more likable. Not that either would admit it.

“You two fought like a married couple,” Mike finishes the sentiment, “I guess I never really thought about as you two being, well you know. I thought I blended into the background because maybe we weren’t really good friends but I guess I was just a third wheel.”

Mike chuckles again.

“I probably could have spared myself the savior complex if I’d known that.”

Eddie’s been flirting with the shot glass but he stops now. He doesn’t drink it but he does turn fully toward Mike. His eyes look serious maybe even calculating and it’s surprises Mike.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks.

Mike stares at the bottle between them finding it less heavy than Eddie’s gaze. The tequila is hitting him now, making his body lighter and the low bar lights fuzzy.

“I guess I figured that saving Derry was the only way I could stay important. Like if I didn’t stay behind and gather everyone when the time came, if I didn’t find answers, then I never really mattered. I think maybe Stan and I both felt like that, like we were the background characters of the Loser’s Club. We didn’t really know at the time but there was that love triangle with Ben and Bev and Bill and then the tension with you and Richie. I just wanted my friends. I wanted to matter.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t get married or have a family. Not just because of It. I think maybe I was waiting for you all to come home… so I could know that you cared. That maybe y’all loved each other and loved me enough to come home.”

Mike nearly falls off the bar stool as Eddie throws his arms around him. He doesn’t say anything but holds him tight. Mike doesn’t care anymore about the potentially dangerous guys around them or the tequila sitting in front of him. He leans into the embrace Eddie gives. Eddie pats him reassuringly on the back.

“I love you, Mike,” Eddie says into Mike’s shoulder, “all of us love you. I’m sorry we were too involved in other shit to let you know that.”

If ending It wasn’t enough to give Mike peace this was enough and how funny that it comes from Eddie? Little, wheezy but long winded Eddie.

“Also can we go now?” Eddie asks still mid hug, “I feel like my center of gravity just told me to fuck off.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: eating disorder, specifically bulimia.

Audra’s heels clack loudly against tile flooring as she follows the real estate agent through the kitchen. The realtor continues to babble about how the house essentially once belonged to Derry’s finest; the previous owners of Derry’s local factory before they were bought out by a larger corporation. The history doesn’t hold any interest for her outside of the fact that the current owners are looking to sell.

The estate is six bedrooms and four bathrooms on several acres. The inside has been kept well but the grounds need work. It’s an older estate but it was built and maintained in a classic style so there’s no headaches of shag carpet or bright green walls. Not that either would stop Audra.

Truthfully, Audra doesn’t care about the garden tub in the master bath or the two fireplaces or the fountain in the back garden. The main point is that it’s private, set far enough away from the actual town but still a part of Derry. Whether it’s scenic or comfortable (or practically speaking far too big) is entirely aside from that point.

“I’ll take it,” Audra says flatly.

“Oh?” the realtor seems surprised, “But don’t you want to see the other bedrooms before-”

“It’s habitable isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes! Everything is up to code! The gardens need some tending but I-”

“Then I’ll take it.”

Audra starts to exit the kitchen. It’s easy to tell that it’s a room built for a staff not a resident. The doors swing open with a bit of a push; they’re heavy and need to be oiled at the hinges. The realtor follows behind, a round woman with too much perfume, too much eyeshadow, and too many nerves.

“The asking price is, of course, a bit steep. It is a small mansion so they’re asking for-”

Yes, it’s a small mansion but it’s in Derry, Maine. It’s a castle built in a little nowhere town with little nobodies scattered throughout. Not one among them who could afford this place. Given the state of the grounds it’s been years since anyone had lived here and it looks like the care it’s given on the inside is annual at best.

“Whatever they’re asking I’ll give it to them. And let them know that the offer only stands so long as we close in twenty four hours. If they can’t I’m moving on.”

Audra gives the nervous woman the contact info of all necessary parties on her end. She then heads out to her rental car; a sleek little number in a dark blue. She starts up the car and watches as the realtor panics over a phone call.

Audra doesn’t leave yet and instead continues to watch the other woman as she runs a tissue over her forehead and dabs it at her breast. Audra doesn’t know if it was all the walking or the potential sale that had the poor creature sweating so much. She supposes both.

It’s when the realtor leaves that Audra takes off her expensive sunglasses and high heels. She tosses them both onto the passenger’s side and lets out a sigh. With that release of air goes her perfect posture, her resting bitch face, all the power and poise she had strutted around in that ridiculously huge house.

Audra presses the call button and the car’s Bluetooth dutifully follows orders to call her mother.

“Hey ma,” she lets her voice tumble into the borders of her former accent, her old life. The “A” comes out sharp and she winces at it.

“My baby!” Audra’s mother cries out, “my God I thought you’d never call! Your brother was saying that Mr Big Shot must have left ya. He didn’t right? You’re too good for him anyway. Oh say, hi to ya brotha. Mikey! Mikey come say hi to ya sistah!”

Boston is known for a particular type of person but Audra’s mother is that stereotype amplified. It took Audra years to unlearn her accent, to level her volume. She practiced for well over a decade and even after that her first casting director still sent her to speech therapy.

“Ma,” Audra tries to speak over the sound of her mother and younger brother fighting in the background, “Mom! Please I don’t have a lot of time.”

Mikey isn’t a child of course. He’s twenty nine and living at home still. Audra assumes it’s as much for her mother’s benefit as her brother’s but she isn’t sure. The last she can remember Mikey is a dishwasher? She wonders if he still is.

“What’s going on? You sound like something’s wrong. Talk to me, Audrey.”

“It’s Audra now, Mom,” she corrects her for the thousandth time.

“Like hell it is. I named you Audrey and that’s that.”

Audra would usually interject that her changed birth certificate and movie credits say otherwise but she lets it go. This isn’t why she called.

“Mom, I bought a- a really big house. An expensive house. In Derry.”

“Dairy? Like a farm? Sweetie, I don’t understand.”

Audra feels like she did when she first decided to move to LA and pursue her acting career full time. That is to say, she feels naive, small… and scared. She pushes a knob on the car door and the seat moves forward. She rests her arms and forehead on the steering wheel.

“It’s a town in Maine. Mom, Bill left and he came here so-”

“Wait. He actually left? Sweetie, I’m so sorry. I was just joking. Mikey was just being a little shit. Nobody meant anything by it.”

“I don’t think he was leaving me. I don’t think so anyway. Mom, listen. He wasn’t right when he left. It was like he was sick or something. And now he’s in trouble.”

Things become unnaturally quiet on the other end of the line. Audra raises her gaze from the wheel. She looks at the caller ID just to check.

“Mom?”

“What kind of trouble?”

Her mother sounds so calculating like she’s debating on her next course of action. Audra remembers how once, when she was thirteen, an older boy put a hand up her skirt. She’d come home and cried to her mother, sobbed into her shoulder for hours. When she was done her mother got quiet just like this, asked a few questions, and then set off to that boy’s house. Audra’s mother beat the shit out of him bare fisted in his own front yard.

“His lawyer can get him on house arrest if there’s a house so… so I bought one, Ma.”

There’s more silence. Audra doesn’t feel comfortable telling her mother that Bill’s suspected of murder let alone child murder. The woman who raised her isn’t the type to assume innocence. She’d rather apologize after than give the benefit of the doubt first.

“Audrey, why are you telling me this? Do you need help? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

_ I don’t know what I want,  _ Audra tries desperately not to tear up.

“Ma, did you ever think my marriage had any problems? Like did it look like we’d not work out or something?”

Audra’s accent coats her throat like armor. She knows she sounds sad but she’s not wispy and delicate. She’s not allowing a single, perfect and demure tear gently pass down her cheek. For the first time in a long time, she's not waterproof mascara and concealer and a push up bra under faux red waves and perfect lighting.

She’s barefoot, hair attempting to grow out of her big toes. She’s slumped over, stomach bended into three little folds. Her face is pink and hot trying to hold back tears. She can smell two days of unwashed everything on her person despite the expensive perfume idling on top. She’s just a person, imperfect and strange. It’s equally relieving and disgusting to be one.

“I wouldn’t know, Audrey,” her mother answers, “I got to be honest; I don’t know your husband anymore than I know you these days. I mean, you changed everything. I see a woman in magazines and in the movies and in your interviews but she don’t talk or walk or seem anything like you used to be.”

“Ma, please,” Audra chokes up a bit, “I just need to know if what I’m doing is right. If this is stupid or not.”

Audra wishes she could sit on her mother’s couch with her. That couch was the kind you’d sink into. You sunk so well into that ugly yellow upholstery that it sucked in your problems too. She even misses the TV dinners her mom would have with her and her brother. A puck of beef slathered in bad gravy. Audra used to love it.

“I don’t know about all that, sweetie. What I do know is that you’ve always had strong impulses and you’re lucky enough that they work out. You’ve got intuition or ambition or something. You’ve made things work before so I guess you have to ask yourself; do you want your marriage to work?”

Audra thinks about this. Maybe she does and maybe she doesn’t but she went through the trouble of getting a plane ticket and renting a car and buying a house. That at least must mean she wants hear Bill out in person.

As for the parts about her mother not knowing her anymore… that was something to unpack another day.

Audra sits up straight and rolls her shoulders. She gently pats her index finger under her lash line to check for running makeup. She’s clear and she places her hands back on the wheel, ten and two.

“Thank you, mom.”

She doesn’t wait for her mom to say anything else. If she does then the conversation will devolve into questions of visiting and when to call back. It’ll touch too much on the problems between them and Audra can’t right now. She hangs up.

Audra puts her sunglasses on and puts her toes back into her cramped, pointy black heels. She puts on an air of mild annoyance. She’s hoping it keeps everyone in this town at bay; no questions, no concerns. If not she’s not sure she’ll make it.

—-

Ben wraps up his meeting over his lap top. He pitched the idea of classic architectural work but with modernize function for a new library in Pennsylvania. It’s a gift from some affluent patron to the city but really Ben sees it as an opportunity to try something new.

Ben’s career has been so steady that there aren’t many stakes in it anymore. Everything he pitches works out. It gets more foot traffic or plenty of media coverage. It’s always functional and aesthetically pleasing. The profits are always more than Ben knows what to do with so a lot of it goes to charity. The rest pays for property taxes, an online personal trainer, and fancy dog food for a very spoiled pup.

Ben misses his dog now. She’s a good dog; a quiet companion and an excellent architectural consultant or so Ben likes to imagine. Right now she’s in a five star kennel. Ben wants to get back to her soon and back to his home.

But then, here and now, there’s Beverly. And he loves her now as much as he did then. He feels the same gravitation to her smile, the same hunger for her story, the very same reverence for her strength and beauty. It feels impossible to walk away from her.

Ben opens his overnight bag and retrieves a shaker cup and a protein powder pack. He can’t find it in himself to use the tap in his bathroom to fill the cup. Something about seeing all those dead bodies in the sewers makes it hard to dare a sip from the faucet. Ben reluctantly puts on a pair of pants and his shoes and makes his way for the little vending machine in the hall.

The machine takes three tries until it finally accepts the $1.50 from Ben’s pockets. Ben searches for the letter and number to punch in for a bottle of water. It’s going to be room temperature but he’s not picky. Truthfully, the protein powder tastes like sweetened spinach anyway so the quality of cuisine isn’t exactly his top priority.

Ben gets distracted by the other goods in the machine rather quickly. Specifically there’s a Hershey’s bar that catches his eye. As a kid, Ben used to hoard these bars in little hiding spots in his room. He had one behind the bed frame at all times. He remembers bittersweetly the taste of chocolate melting in his mouth as he’d think of ways to win over Beverly because there was always those two things on his mind before he went to bed in those days: food and Bev.

_ Some things don’t change, _ he thinks to himself as the water bottle thuds to the bottom of the machine.

The metal ball in the cup smacks against the plastic as Ben walks back to his room. He passes by Bev’s door and pauses. He could knock and check in with her. It would be a courtesy call and nothing more. There’s no harm in that, right?

He shakes off the notion. It’s not for him to decide if Bev wants to see him and under what circumstances. She’s got a lot on her plate and Ben’s not sure that badgering her would be helpful for either of them. Ben chugs his breakfast and, as predicted, it’s a sick sort of sweet that he powers through.

Ben knows that there are other flavors of protein powder out there now; chocolate, and cookies and cream, and even pumpkin spice, and chocolate. And chocolate and chocolate and… chocolate. Ben’s mind wanders back to the Hershey’s bar in the vending machine. His hand searches his pocket for money.

Ben doesn’t buy other flavors of protein powder. He sticks the kind that tastes bad, sour, or outright plain. It’s safe that way; undesirable fuel. If he forces himself through food then he doesn’t feel the need to come back to it, to indulge. Back home he has grocery delivery set up for once a week; fish and vegetables and soy milk and so very much protein powder. And never in chocolate. Ever.

Ben’s fingers play with the twenty dollar bill he’s found. They glide across the almost leathery feel of currency as his forehead breaks out in a light sweat. He can’t remember the last time he’d had chocolate anything let alone real chocolate. His tongue wraps around the memory of it, salivating at the thought. Oh to be young and careless and fantasizing about the love of his life while eating chocolate. If only it were that simple and that safe again because dreams and candy can’t hurt anyone, right?

Everything that happens next happens in such fast succession that Ben barely registers it. He’s at the vending machine and he feeds it his twenty dollar bill. He presses the right buttons and change and chocolate come out. He doesn’t take his change though. He feeds it back into the machine and then does it again and again.

Ben blinks and he’s in his room, lying on his bed surrounded by the wrappers of twenty full size chocolate bars. His mouth tastes as sickly sweet as it did from his original breakfast but everything feels different. His stomach feels ready to burst and it hurts.

_ Stupid, _ he thinks to himself bitterly,  _ you stupid fat fuck. _

Maybe there was a reason that Bev didn’t come to Ben just as she didn’t go to him when they were children. It’s possible that Bev still sees Ben as the round, moon pie faced little butterball he was then. Is it something in the way he walks? The way he talks? Can she smell it on him? Can she sense that deep down he lacks control, lacks confidence, lacks the will power?

Ben’s physique is the only reason anyone would say he garners attention. His biceps and trim waist and sculpted calves give him presence and power. Women look at him because he’s modeled himself after actors. When they look at him they see them. It’s not because he has strength of character or charm or wit. And maybe Bev knows that because she’s Bev. She’s infinitely smarter than anyone Ben’s ever known. She can sense that he’s still too weak willed and bland.

_I’m not good enough. I was never good enough for you._ _I’m still not._

The urge to purge sounds like an alarm in Ben’s body. His stomach screams at him violently to get rid of it. Get it out. Quickly! Before it’s permanent! Before he changes! Before he loses the only thing anyone’s ever looked at him for!

His throat is raw and his abdomen aches when it’s over. Calmly, Ben walks back to what’s left of the water in the plastic bottle and rinses the last of the vomit out from his mouth. He returns to the bathroom and spits a gross, brown glob of water into the sink. He regards his reflection and tries desperately to feel indifferent.

The endorphins hit and it’s high school all over again.

It’s so easy to tell people that he lost his weight because he joined track in high school and ate salads religiously. It’s so nice and fitness positive to say he learned how to eat right and exercise. It feels good to see people from his childhood and for him to look so undeniably healthy in comparison to their memory.

It’s not as easy to talk about therapy. It’s not a fun tip to mention how he can’t share living space with certain foods or else. It’s not good to let people know about the little secret lining his teenage success. How he has this disease, let alone one that the public reserves as a phase in the lives of shallow, little girls.

Ben turns on the shower as hot as it can go. It fills the room with steam in minutes. Ben turns away from the mirror to undress. If he looks now he’ll only see flaws and start the whole cycle over again. It’s best to keep his eye preoccupied with the faded tile on the floor.

Ben tells himself over and over that after his shower he’ll give his therapist a call. It’ll be good for him. It’s best to manage a relapse as soon as possible. Ben gives himself hundreds of rationalizations as he continues to stare blankly into the chrome fixtures in the tub.

\---

“Oh God,” Eddie groans, “why is everything so loud?”

The sound of someone moving in the other room might as well be the sound of an angry toddler screeching and banging together pots and pans. Eddie pulls the blankets up over his head and wonders if it’s possible to turn down the volume on the entire world. It doesn’t occur to him that the blankets he’s under are unfamiliar as is the bed and the room.

Eddie’s soul nearly jumps out of his body as the door to this strange room opens and light comes pouring in.

“Fuck!” Eddie says on reflex.

“Good morning to you too,” a very familiar voice assure’s Eddie’s ears.

Eddie peaks from under the blanket and squints, making out a silhouette carrying a thermos? A cup?

“Mike?” Eddie asks just to confirm.

Sure enough, Mike is in fact in the doorway. He closes the door halfway behind him as if taking into consideration suddenly that Eddie and light may not be on the best of terms. He comes to the bedside and offers Eddie a to go cup.

“It’s my own remedy. It should help with the hangover.”

Eddie nods and drinks it. He grimaces at the taste; it tastes like lemon and mint and-

“It’s alcohol!” Eddie’s sticks his tongue out.

Mike laughs and rests his back against the wall.

“Hair of the dog,” Mike explains,” oh and, um, your clothes are drying. I can bring them up if you’d like to shower in the meantime.”

Confused, Eddie looks down and notices his nipples are showing. He panics and clutches the bedding up to his chest.

“I’m naked!” he shouts in confusion. He lifts the covers enough to make an accurate judgement and then quickly covers himself again, “I’M  _ NAKED _ NAKED!”

Eddie has so many questions and his memory has no answers. He searches for some on the bedding but there’s nothing but thick orange material woven together. Eddie looks at Mike with confused pleading in his tight knit brow. Mike avoids eye contact and seems… embarrassed.

“Oh God!” Eddie’s panic heightens, “Oh my God! Mike, did I-? Did we? Oh God! Oh no. I mean not oh no because you’re not attractive. You’re very attractive! Oh God, this sexual crisis is so weird! Not that you’re weird!”

“Eddie!” Mike disrupts the onslaught of apologies, “Eddie, it’s not like that!”

Eddie absorbs this information but still hasn’t figured out what happened. Mike looks at the ceiling and clears his throat.

“You...” Mike tries to figure out how to phrase it before going point blank, “You kind of got so drunk that you threw up...all over yourself and the… the lumberjack statue in town square.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Eddie starts laughing at himself which gives Mike permission to laugh as well. It dies down after a minute. Eddie reluctantly takes another drink of Mike’s concoction. It doesn’t taste too bad on the second swing. The minty aftertaste even helps to settle his stomach.

“It’s a vitamin powder, lemonade, and fresh mint. I grow some on the window sill. It’s got less than a shot of cheap vodka but I don’t think I mixed it very well… sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s not bad, really,” Eddie assures him before taking another little sip, “now where did you say that shower is?”

After showering and changing back into his clothes Eddie thanks Mike and makes his way back to the bed and breakfast. Mike even does the extra kindness of giving him a toaster waffle and a pair of sunglasses. It makes the coming journey feel more bearable.

As he walks, memories of last night come back to him in snippets. He remembers drinking and then Mike showing up and drinking with Mike. He remembers Mike spilling his guts and he remembers hugging him and Eddie wonders now why he doesn’t hug more. Hugging is important, it lets people know you love them, and Eddie realizes that he’s probably hugged and been hugged more in this single trip than most of his life prior to it.

Eddie decides that Mike is always getting a hug from now on. Everytime they see each other he is absolutely going to throw an arm around him. Mike may have lied to everyone, twice, but he has good intentions. He’s a good man, a great one really. He just felt underappreciated and Eddie supposes that’s not wrong. From what Eddie can remember, and on his part anyway, his friendship with Mike growing up was a little underwhelming.

_ Speaking of underwhelming, _ Eddie thinks as he sees Richie standing in front of his rental car.

The date he went on last night was terrible. It was too quiet and awkward. Richie was hardly himself and Eddie sat there, confused and just as awkward. It was hands down the worst date Eddie had ever been on and that’s saying something because his dating history consists exclusively of Myra.

“Hey!” Eddie shouts from across the street.

His own voice hits too hard and he winces. Richie manages to catch his phone before it hits concrete. He must have been sending a text or something. He peers back at Eddie. The afternoon sun hits in such a way that Richie has to cup around his glasses to make out Eddie.

_ Stupid _ , Eddie thinks as he crosses the street so he doesn’t have to shout anymore,  _ stupid thick, stupid fucking glasses. Get contacts you asshole. They exist and you won’t look like some Woody Allen reject, stupid. _

“That was the worst date I’ve ever been on!” Eddie berates him once he crosses the street, “Why were you so weird!?”

“Me? Me!? I wasn’t fucking weird you were fucking weird!” Richie fires back after tucking his phone into his pocket.

“What!? How can you even- you’re the weird one!”

“Oh yeah. Me. I’m the fucking weird one!” Richie’s yelling makes Eddie’s ears feel like they’re bleeding, “You sat there all pissed off with that stupid fucking eyebrow thing you do and that goddamn hole in your cheek!”

“Well excuse the fuck out of me for getting stabbed, asshole!”

This seems to smack some sense into Richie. He presses his index fingers into his temples and lets out a groan.

“Fuck!” he says it mostly to himself, “I didn’t mean that! God why is it so hard to talk to you!?”

Eddie feels a little guilty at the comment. It’s easy to forget that this is just as awkward and new to Richie as it is to him. Of course, Eddie’s certain that Richie has been with other men before so it can’t be the gay thing. Right? It’s just the history they have. It’s weird to suddenly be interested in a childhood friend now that they’re both adults.. right?

Eddie has a startling realization that he doesn’t actually know what’s going on with Richie’s interest. Is this an entire sexual awakening the way it is to Eddie? Could it be that Richie doesn’t even like other guys? Eddie remembers a bit of Richie’s stand up from a Netflix special a few years ago. He’d mentioned having a girlfriend but Richie doesn’t write his own material so… so what? So, Eddie has a lot of questions now and isn’t sure how to go about asking any of them.

“I don’t know what’s going on anymore,” Eddie says quietly, “Do you even like me? Did you ever like me?”

“What do you mean, man?”

There’s a hurt trying to hide in Richie’s expression but Eddie sees it spilling out. It’s running off his shoulders in small waves and those waves curl up around Eddie mockingly. How did he not see so much of Richie until now? How was he not aware of how undeniably readable he is? Eddie doesn’t want to answer because he can sense Richie’s regret on the horizon but he doesn’t understand it. Seeing the emotion isn’t the same as having answers.

“You picked on me,” Eddie says and despite his best efforts it builds, “You always picked on me more than you picked on anyone else. You gave me stupid nicknames like Eddie Spaghetti even though I  _ told you _ I didn’t like it. You never had a real conversation with me unless you were arguing or making fun of me! You didn’t think that hurt my feelings sometimes!? Sure, you ribbed everyone but, Jesus Christ, Richie, you never stopped with me! We’re we even friends? You might as well been another fucking bully!”

Eddie regrets it. He regrets saying all of it because he sees actual tears running down past the thick, black frames on Richie’s face. It reminds Eddie of Richie crying on that rock in the quarry just days ago. He remembers that Richie’s literally seen him die and how badly it had hurt. He’d wiped Richie’s tears away so easily then but he can’t find it in himself to do it now.

“I didn’t mean that,” Eddie cowers in the wake of his rant, “I know we’re friends.”

“No.”

Richie’s glasses lift as he wipes away his own tears. He takes a breath to steady himself and Eddie is surprised by how badly he wants to touch him. He feels the strongest urge to kiss Richie’s tear streaks and murmur into them how sorry he is. It’s romantic in a way that Eddie’s never felt before and it scares him so he keeps the bit of distance between them.

“No you’re right,” Richie’s voice hurts Eddie hard and it’s not because of the hangover, “we were never friends.”

Eddie’s blown away by the admission. He can’t figure out how to place it into his memories. Sure, Richie has always been an asshole but he was  _ his _ asshole. Eddie didn’t realize until now that sense of ownership had ever been there but feels the weight of it like the weight of his hangover. If Richie was never his… his anything, then what had their relationship been as kids?

“I can explain why though,” Richie says, “but I have to show you.”

Richie’s eyes are pleading with Eddie; begging for understanding and patience. Eddie nods and Richie quietly opens the passenger door for him to his rental car. Eddie says nothing but accepts the offer. Richie almost trips over himself to get onto the driver’s side but Eddie doesn’t mention it.

The drive doesn’t take very long but no drive in Derry ever really does. When they park, Richie digs through the middle console and produces a bottle of ibuprofen.

“I know a hangover when I see one,” Richie says as he offers Eddie the bottle.

Eddie swallows three round little pills with what’s left of his cup from Mike. He appreciates Richie not asking any further questions about said hangover. Eddie’s too nervous about this coming explanation to talk about himself. Once Richie’s returned the medicine to it’s designated spot, he takes a deep breath and Eddie realizes they’re parked close to the kissing bridge.

They get out of the car and walk the few yards over to the Derry landmark. Once there, Richie starts scanning the wood that lines it. Eddie watches with a certain sense of wonder. What did the kissing bridge have to do with their childhood friendship or lack thereof?

“Over here,” Richie squats down and points to a spot in the wood.

Eddie squints and there, in the kissing bridge, is a very light carving of a heart with ‘R+E’ in it. Eddie glances at Richie but Richie’s gaze doesn’t waiver from the carving. His eyes are stuck on it, almost hypnotized.

“I carved this in right around the time that clown bastard decided to fuck with everyone,” Richie explains, his hand resting at the heart’s point, “This fucking bridge is the first place I ever let my feelings out. I knew how I felt before but I didn’t put it into words and this shit was the best I could do; some cliche little heart and our initials.”

Richie drops his hand and stands back up. He stares over the edge of the bridge.

“We weren’t friends because I was in love with you. I picked on you and I still do because I don’t know how to act around someone I’ve been in love with since I was a kid. I didn’t even remember you for most of my life but the minute you walked into that shitty Chinese restaraunt I knew that I am the same fucking loser I was then and I still didn’t have the balls to make a move...I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want to lose you, man. Not again.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond to that because there’s a lot of responses to have. He’s surprised and flattered and annoyed. It makes sense but it’s hard to reconcile with feelings he’d had as a child and the information he has now. Eddie feels compelled to give some response but words don’t come to him easily.

Eddie’s finger twitches and he eyes Richie’s hand. He wants to hold it but there’s still that nagging voice that tells him to say something. It scratches and claws at the back of his mind in a way that feels horrible and too familiar.

_ “Eddie, say ‘I love you’.” _

It’s his mother’s voice. It’s Myra’s voice. It’s the both of them demanding words, demanding affection. Eddie swallows his tongue and pushes the both of them as far away from himself and Richie as he can. He doesn’t need words. He doesn’t have to verbalize anything. Instead he lets his actions speak for him and it feels so comfortable and so right to lace his fingers in Richie’s.

Richie is surprised but he doesn’t pull away. Eddie even leans into Richie’s arm, resting his head carefully so as to avoid his injury. He can feel the electricity of Richie’s emotions in his fingers and Eddie welcomes it. He lets it flow through him and he thinks to himself that this is how love is supposed to feel. He isn’t even mildly shocked now to think he loves Richie. It’s almost natural, blatant even, and Eddie wonders how he never noticed it before.

“I threw a perfectly good pair of shoes over this bridge,” Eddie says with a sigh.


End file.
